


Comfortably Soft

by great_white_shark



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Belly Kink, Chubby Castiel, Chubby Dean, Multi, Stuffing, Weight Gain, see index in chapter one for short descriptions of each chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-02-17 21:14:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13085508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/great_white_shark/pseuds/great_white_shark
Summary: A bunch of fics about chubby!Dean and the more-than-occasional chubby!Cas - canon verse, high school AUs, bakery AUs, and more.This is series of unrelated fics I've written based on either prompts or my own ideas. It'll be updated as I write. I'll take prompts in the comments!





	1. Index

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Here are the rules for comment prompts:
> 
> 1\. I'm not gonna have the time to write every prompt I get, so please don't take it personally if I don't get to yours!  
> 2\. Please don't request Wincest, as I've never been that comfortable writing it. Smith/Wesson is fine.  
> 3\. HMU WITH SOME CHUBBY!CAS TOO!!!  
> 4\. I'll gladly write ships besides Dean/Cas! I'm partial to it, but I also love Dean/Lisa, Dean/Benny, etc. - basically if Dean's in it, I'm down! I love my soft boy.  
> 5\. There is no weight limit as far as what I'll write.  
> 6\. You can assume that everyone in every fic is 18+ - I don’t write underage.
> 
> Now ask away! I'm running out of ideas, but I'd love to hear everyone else's :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thought I'd add an index to make this fic easier to navigate, especially when it starts to get bigger.

Oblivious: Basically canon verse, established Dean/Cas, chubby!Dean

Late Night Snack: College AU, established Dean/Cas, chubby!Dean

Roomies (1-3): High School/Boarding School AU, eventual Dean/Cas, chubby!Cas, chubby!Dean

Devilish Delights: Bakery AU, Dean/Benny, baker!Benny, fat!Dean

Home Alone: More or less canon verse, established Dean/Cas, chubby!Dean left alone at the bunker

Retired: Set several years after an alternate s13, established Dean/Cas, chubby!Dean, (really) fat!Cas

In Which Dean is the Pitcher for Once: High School baseball AU, Dean/Cas, chubby!Dean

Fair Food: ABO non-hunting AU, alpha!Cas, omega!Dean, fat!Dean, mpreg

Whoever: Mechanic AU, eventual Dean/Cas, fat!Dean

The Dieting Game (1 & 2): It’s a Terrible Life AU, Smith/Wesson, chubby!Dean


	2. Oblivious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gains weight, and both of our boys are idiots. Set any time between season 8 to present.

Dean was gaining weight.

It started out slowly, but Cas noticed right away. The softening of Dean's jawline. The slight curve under his t-shirts. The added roundness to his cheeks, and the way that smiling emphasized his soft chin. Cas didn't say anything, but oh yes. He noticed.

Somehow, as observant as Dean usually was - a necessary trait in their line of work - he seemed to be oblivious to his own weight gain. The curve to his stomach became a little belly, one that poked out over increasingly-tight waistbands and tugged at clingier shirts. A soft chin became two - when Dean looked down, at least - and the hard planes of Dean's face softened into curves.

And Dean still had no idea. One day, when Cas overheard Dean complaining to Sam (who also had noticed Dean's increasing weight, though they'd made an unspoken pact not to say anything to him) about how his jeans had shrunk in the wash, Cas drove to the nearest Goodwill and purchased five worn, faded pairs of jeans two sizes up from Dean's current pants. He replaced them while Dean made dinner and made a mental note to donate Dean's old jeans.

Dean had three servings of dinner that evening and unzipped his fly afterwards, sighing contentedly, as he hollered for Sam to snag him a second beer. He didn't seem to notice how his plump belly crept forward to fill the space.

But Cas did. He _especially_ noticed when, that night, Dean's supple midsection bounced as he rode Cas. Thick thighs squeezed Cas' ribs and, instinctually, Cas grabbed onto Dean's hips. He came immediately when he felt the soft love handles forming there.

So maybe Cas did a little more than notice, but he couldn't help it. Dean just looked so _delectable_ with the added weight. Not that Dean wasn't beautiful without it, but something about the new softness and curviness to his features hit Cas in just the right spot.

Lucky for him, it didn't stop there. Dean's belly grew and grew, the little gut swelling until it strained at even his baggiest shirts, even the new jeans getting tight around the waist. Dean ended up popping the button off his new jeans in the middle of a rather spectacular dinner, and Cas had to excuse himself from the table to take care of his... rising problem. He silently replaced the ruined jeans the next day with yet _another_ two sizes up. That was four sizes in five months.

It wasn't like they weren't hunting or anything. Sure, they'd slowed down a bit, but there was still typically a monster of the week, so Cas didn't think it was lack of exercise that was causing Dean's waistline to expand. No, it was probably just Dean's metabolism giving out as he approached forty, the years of junk food and beer and hard liquor finally catching up to him in the form of soft love handles, a curvier backside, and a belly that refused to be contained by any of his current clothes. And the way Dean had been eating lately certainly didn't help.

Dean had always been an enthusiastic eater, but in the past few months his appetite had increased exponentially. He ate multiple servings of dinner, ordered two meals (at the very least) at diners and rest stops, and never left a crumb on his plate. He'd taken to leaning back in his chair when he ate, unintentionally showing off the fullness of his gut, all in an effort to cram more food into his stomach.

A month or so after the button-popping incident, Dean called Cas into his (their) room before they left to go on a hunt. It was their first complex hunt in a while, one that would require FBI badges, fake 'official' phone calls, the whole nine yards; the past few months had mostly been straightforward salt-and-burns. And when Cas opened the door and saw Dean, he realized his mistake.

Oh, _shit_. He'd been sneakily replacing Dean's normal clothes, but he'd completely forgotten about his FBI suits.

Dean stood by the bed in a pair of what seemed to be painfully-tight boxer briefs and a pair of cheap black slacks stuck around mid-thigh. He was scrunching his face up as he yanked at the pants harshly, belly (and pecs, and arms, and sides) jiggling at the quick motions of his hands. The pants remained stubbornly around his thick thighs, refusing to be pulled up an inch, and Cas sucked in a quick breath at the display. Dean looked up at the noise and scowled at Cas.

"What the hell, Cas," he said, gesturing at the skin-tight slacks as he angrily shuffle-stepped over to the doorway. "I thought you'd bought a new suit already!"

Wait.

_What?_

"What?" Cas replied intelligently, at a loss for words.

"You've been replacing the rest of my shit," Dean said. "I'd assumed you'd replaced my suits, too. Goddammit, now we'll be late because I need to go to fuckin' _Peebles._ "

"I..." Cas started, staring at Dean incredulously. Dean stared back, an eyebrow raised. "I didn't think that you- you knew?"

Dean snorted. "Of course I knew you were replacing my clothes," he said, as if it was the most ridiculous question in the world. "I've had most of these clothes since my twenties. You really think I wouldn't notice that my entire goddamn wardrobe changed?"

"All of your clothes look the same," Cas muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," Cas covered quickly, ignoring Dean's suspicious glare. "But if you knew, why didn't you say anything?"

"I figured _you_ knew that _I_ knew! I mean, you weren't very discreet. You left the tags on," Dean said, frown slowly morphing into a grin. "You mean you thought you were being sneaky?"

Cas felt his face heat up. "At least a little," he replied weakly, and Dean's grin grew wider. "Honestly, I didn't think you'd noticed that you were gaining weight in the first place."

Now it's was Dean's turn to blush. "I, um, actually didn't. For the first couple months, at least. I only realized when you replaced my jeans the first time."

Cas sighed. "We're both idiots, aren't we."

"Kind of," Dean conceded, giving Cas a goofy smile. "Now help me with these pants, babe. We don't got all day."

Unconsciously glancing down at the mention of Dean's pants, Cas' eyes locked onto Dean's soft belly that lapped over the waistband of his underwear. It was truly a magnificent belly, round and supple, littered with little pink stretch marks and brown freckles and golden hairs. Dean chuckled, and his middle bounced enticingly.

"Don't think I didn't notice how into this you are, too," Dean said, slapping a hand to his gut, making the newly-developed rolls around his waist jiggle. "You _really_ ain't subtle."

"Mm," Cas hummed absentmindedly, bringing his own hand up to join Dean's on his stomach.

"Come on, Cas, let's get this show on the road. Help me at least get 'em around my waist."

Cas tore his eyes away from Dean's gut and grabbed the waistband of Dean's slacks, even as he said, "I don't think this will work, Dean." The pants were already painted on, tight enough to show off the cellulite on Dean's thighs.

"That right there's quitter talk," Dean said. "You tug the front, I'll tug the back. One, two, _three_ -"

They both gave a mighty yank upwards, Dean red in the face as he and Cas tried to get the slacks above his ass. Dean sucked his gut in, and Cas felt his face flush when Dean's belly wobbled and shook without really reducing in size at all. Despite Dean's still-muscular physique, his new fat had grown in soft and jiggly, and it jiggled madly as Dean jumped and grunted and cursed.

"This ain't a one man job, Cas!" Dean wheezed, taking a split second to send a glare at Cas. Shaking himself out of his trance-like state, Cas realized he'd stopped pulling and resumed tugging, yanking...

Finally, Dean's pants slipped over his butt and settled into place. Panting heavily, Dean pawed at his own fat to shove it out and over the waistband, anything to make a little more room between himself and his pants. The result looked rather ridiculous - generous love handles strained over the sides, a roll of back fat sat primly above his ass, and Dean's already substantial stomach was piled out front in a big, soft-looking mound. Dean sighed, and it pushed out even further, resting heavily between the flaps of his slacks. He already had a naturally top-heavy build, but this was ridiculous.

"Phase one complete," Dean muttered to himself. Cas just shook his head.

"Dean, I don't think the full might of heaven could make those pants button," he said. Cas reached out and grabbed a handful of Dean's supple stomach, relishing in how warm and soft it was. He squeezed a bit harder, and Dean made an annoyed sound. "There is no way on earth that this will work."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Watch and learn, asshole," he muttered. He produced a box of large safety pins from his pocket, smirking triumphantly. "'The full might of heaven' don't mean shit when we got Staples on our side."

Not one, not two, but _three_ safety pins later, Dean's pants were on. More or less. He'd linked the pins to each other and through his pants while Cas had lifted his belly - an experience which Cas was still reeling from, feeling the weight and warmth of that beautiful gut in his own two hands. The final product was a red-faced Dean with a sizable muffin top all the way around his girth, a spare tire hanging precariously over his button, and a small swath of black boxer-briefs barely visible between the unzippable zipper and straining pins.

Cas stuck his finger in the gap and said, "Good thing you wore matching underwear, but I still see one problem."

"Come on, babe. You gotta admit, this was pretty genius - what could I have possibly forgotten?" Dean asked smugly, quirking an eyebrow.

Mirroring Dean's raised brow, Cas gave him a pat on the belly. "You're not wearing a shirt, Dean, and I sincerely doubt that any of your old shirts will fit. You can't exactly safety pin your shirt buttons."

"Shit," Dean muttered, sitting down on the bed heavily, his belly pooched out onto his lap. When he spoke next, his voice carried a hint of a whine. "Cas, I don't _wanna_ go to Peebles."

Cas sighed and leaned down to give Dean's double chin a quick kiss. "I'll go, Dean. Should probably pick up some new pants while I'm at it. I don't think those will survive much more abuse."

"Thanks, babe," Dean said, a hint of a blush on his cheeks. He pulled Cas down for a longer kiss, both of them humming contentedly. "You're amazing," he said after they broke apart, words muffled into the side of Cas' neck.

"I am aware. Now please, let go of my neck. I have a lardass boyfriend who I need to buy clothes for - _again,_ I might add - because he has zero self control."

Dean let Cas go and smiled up at him. "I'll stop eating so much food when it stops tasting so good. And don't pretend like you don't love it," he said with a wink as he slapped the side of his gut.

"Dumbass," Cas said with a smile.

"You love me."

"Unfortunately, yes."


	3. Late Night Snack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> College AU!

"Dean, it's a Tuesday night."

"Mm."

"You have a nine A.M. class on Wednesdays."

"Mm hmm."

"It's currently twelve fifty- oh my god, would you _please_ stop eating and actually pay attention to me for a minute?"

Dean stopped with the spoon halfway to his mouth, and a drop of ice cream dripped down and splattered right on his chest. He pouted, picking at the spot, and whined, "Look what you made me do!"

Cas let out a long-suffering sigh. "Remind me again what time we got here?"

"Dunno. Nine thirty, maybe?" Dean said, words muffled by the ice cream spoon once again sticking out of his mouth.

"And what time is it now?" Cas prodded.

Dean glanced at the huge analog clock hanging above the exit. "Twelve fifty-four."

A moment of silence followed, broken only by the sound of silverware on cheap ceramic. When he finally got the point, Dean's eyes widened. He dropped his hands to his belly and held it gingerly, groaning as if he was just now realizing how much he'd eaten. "Oh, fuck."

"That's what happens when you eat non-stop for over three hours," Cas said with an eye roll, but Dean just whimpered and slumped back further in his chair. "Did you really not realize how much you were eating?"

Dean just let out another little whimper and closed his eyes. He was _gigantic_ , stuffed past full capacity, his bloated, angry stomach pushing out of his shirt and onto his lap insistently, resting between his thighs. It looked like he'd swallowed a beach ball, or like he was pregnant. And overdue. With triplets. Cas' boyfriend looked pretty fat even with an empty belly - that's what going on three years of all-you-can-eat and no self control will do to you - but Dean looked truly massive with a gut full of food.

"Cas," Dean moaned, not even bothering to open his eyes. "Hurts. Need... need your hands." His own hands rested uselessly on his belly, the eating evidently having tired him out.

"You're ridiculously, amazingly lazy," Cas said, but he was smiling. He loved giving Dean belly rubs, and they both knew it.

Dean slumped back in his chair with a sigh as Cas began rubbing, spreading his legs wide. Cas rucked his shirt up above his belly and stroked angry-looking stretch marks with his fingers as his hands worked. It really was amazing, Cas thought, how big Dean had gotten in only two and a half years.

They'd been roommates freshman year, and Cas remembered how skinny Dean had been. Thirty inch waist, washboard abs, toned legs, body sculpted from four years of varsity sports.. well, needless to say, Dean's athletic frame hadn't even lasted a month. His metabolism had given out _amazingly_ fast: he'd gained the freshman fifteen by October, seventy by May. They'd started dating in January, once they'd finally pulled their heads out of their asses and realized that yes, your roommate likes you, too.

Now, a month or two past their two year anniversary, Dean was somewhere in the mid-300s. It was pretty heavy for a guy who'd just turned twenty-one, but so what? Dean loved food, Cas loved when Dean ate, and they both loved the consequences, so screw everyone else.

As Cas worked at Dean's bloated belly, he heard a suspicious-sounding clank. He looked up to see Dean smiling guiltily, ice cream spoon raised halfway to his mouth, and Cas sighed again.

"Dumbass," he muttered, shoving at Dean's gut. Dean grunted, his stomach rocking atop his lap at the push. "I can literally _hear_ how angry your stomach is at you-" Dean's belly interrupted with a pitiful gurgle "-and yet you're still sitting there, stuffing your face."

"Thought you liked it when I stuffed my face," Dean said cockily, though his cheeks were red as he shoved the spoon in his mouth. 

While Dean was normally correct, Cas' annoyance at his fatass boyfriend currently outweighed his love for said boyfriend's belly. "Yes, but I also like sleep, and it's almost one in the morning. And I'd prefer if you didn't explode."

Dean swallowed and took in a deep breath, his cheeks puffed out, belly creeping further across his thighs. "Just lemme finish what I've got."

There were still two burgers and a rather large brownie on his plate, not to mention a glass of coke. And the rest of the ice cream.

It was gonna be a long night.

Though it took him a while - twenty-seven minutes, but it wasn't like Cas was counting - Dean managed almost all of the food on his own. Well, Cas kept up the belly rubs on and off, so not _completely_ on his own, but still. Only the brownie remained.

The chair creaked as Dean leaned back, the old, cheap furniture not used to bearing such a heavy load. Dean was red in the face, sweaty, and panting shallow breaths. Cas would almost say he looked like he'd been to the gym, except for the fact that he'd never known Dean to go to the gym in all the years they'd known each other.

"Cas," Dean whined, drawing it out. "Can't- can't reach th' brownie." He dramatically lifted an arm up as if to demonstrate the gaping distance between him and his dessert - a foot, give or take a few inches, but Dean wasn't getting there any time soon. His bulging belly sat heavily on his lap, the weight pinning him to the back of the chair. He'd only been able to reach the burgers because Cas had (oh so kindly) placed the plate on his gut for him.

Rolling his eyes, Cas did the same to the brownie, plopping it down on Dean's shelf of a stomach. "Any day now," Cas said when Dean didn't make a move for the food.

Dean groaned loudly and made a show of ever-so-slowly reaching a pudgy hand up to his gut, curled his fingers around the brownie, and made another slow trek towards his mouth. Biting and chewing and swallowing took just as long, especially with the way Dean stopped to heave great breaths in between each bite. His mountainous belly poked out of his shirt, almost perfectly round, and shoved apart the unbuttoned flaps of Dean's fly. It groaned and moaned as much as Dean himself, still angry at this treatment even after years of it.

Finally, _finally_ , all the food was gone. Empty plates and scrunched-up napkins covered the tables, all traces of food gone. The culprit sat proudly on Dean's thighs, pink and straining and littered with crumbs, and Dean panted out quick little breaths as he drew lazy patterns on his gut with his thumbs.

"Ready to go now?" Cas asked impatiently. Dean let out a resounding belch and sighed happily, closing his eyes. "Guess I'll call a shuttle then."

When they were finally in bed, just a few minutes shy of two, Cas snuggled up behind Dean and ran a soft hand over his overfed stomach. "I don't know why you do this to yourself, Dean."

"'Cause I know you'll take care of me," Dean said on a yawn, lazily turning his head to snag a quick kiss. "Love you, Cas."

Cas sighed happily. His boyfriend may have been an idiot, but he was _his_ idiot, and Cas wouldn't have him any other way.

"Love you too, Dean."


	4. Roomies (1/3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HS AU. Chubby!Dean, chubbier!Cas, three parts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Boo: "Dean and Cas meet in residence, Cas has just gotten away from his stifling, uber religious family that never let him eat junk food or really enjoy food cuz blah blah gluttony blah blah sin (also homophobic as fuck family). But he’s got a full ride to school, money in the bank from a trust fund and a roomie in Dean that is all to eager to intro the art of decadence into his cute roomie’s new free life. Also, maybe Dean and family range from a bit chubby/stocky/well fed, but Cas leapfrogs them in no time."
> 
> Okay, this didn't follow the prompt exactly, but I think you'll like it! Made it a HS AU instead. It also went a little long... like REALLY long... Whoops.

"I don't know about this," Cas said warily, poking at the piece of pie with his fork. "Mother says that-"

"Dude, no offense, but you're mom's completely, abso-fuckin-lutely wrong," Dean managed to get out around a huge mouthful of burger. "Eating one measly slice of pie ain't about to 'enslave you to a life of gluttony,' or whatever the hell she says. Now grow a pair and eat the damn pie."

Castiel tentatively stabbed a small bite of his apple pie and raised it to his mouth, eyeing it as if it might jump off the fork and bite him. His Mother and Father had always told him that gluttony - added sugars, processed foods, and eating for pleasure - was a path that led straight to Hell, and Cas really had no desire to go to Hell. "Dean, I'm really not sure-"

"Cas," Dean groaned, licking grease off his fingers. Cas fought to keep his eyes away ( _Homosexuality is a sin, Castiel,_ Mother's voice whispered). "Look at me. I'm not exactly svelte, but is there anything particularly satanic about me?" He slapped his stomach for emphasis, and Cas gulped.

It was Castiel's first week at his new boarding school, and Dean was his new roommate. It was a little strange, being the 'new kid' as a senior, but Cas' parents had insisted he switch schools when a spot opened at the elite Westfield Academy, even if he ended up only attending it for a year. Westfield wasn't affiliated with the Church, much to his parents' chargin, but its prestige made that detail a bit easier to overlook.

Dean had been the first one to welcome him to the school, and it had honestly been quite a shock for Castiel. He'd gone to a Catholic school for most of his life, one that still ran almost exactly as it had in the fifties. All the students had to look pristine in their uniforms at all times, not a string out of place, and sit upright, as to not allow a habit of laziness to take root. Being met by a chubby young man in a too-tight uniform shirt, his round stomach resting comfortably over a rather tight looking belt, a fist held out for what Cas later learned to be a 'fist bump,' was not what Castiel had been expecting of his new school.

After learning of Cas' strict upbringing - no processed or sugary foods, no violent movies, no video games, etc. - Dean had taken personal offense and made it his mission to introduce Cas to everything his parents had forbidden. They'd started with the games and movies, and had spent the two days before classes started holed up in their room with Dean's friend Charlie. Castiel was now rather proficient at GTA and had seen every single Star Wars movie, but they'd yet to tackle the 'food travesty,' as Dean called it, until now.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Cas searched his mind for an answer to Dean's question and found that no, Dean didn't look particularly evil, nor was he a bad person. He was kind, caring, and compassionate, despite his love for bloody video games and greasy food. If Hell was filled with people like Dean, Cas decided, then Heaven must be incredibly boring.

Feeling rebellious over both his thoughts and what he was about to do, Cas' insides tingled as he wrapped his mouth around the bite of pie. A moan ripped its way out of his throat and Cas' eyes widened, his entire world changed. Dean was right. Pie was _delicious_.

Cas proceeded to shovel pie into his mouth until his plate was clean, barely taking time to chew, let alone swallow. When he finally came up for air, Dean's mouth was open slightly, the corners turned up. "You- um, you like pie, Cas?"

"Very much so," Castiel agreed, licking his fork. Dean's pupils dilated, and Cas shifted in his seat. "I can't believe Mother and Father kept this from me for so long."

"There's more where that came from, buddy," Dean said with a laugh, pushing his own slice of pie towards Cas. "Dig in."

He didn't need to be told twice. Cas immediately started in on his second slice - cherry this time, and he loved it just as much as the apple. It was gone minutes later, and Cas was left staring sadly at his empty plate, his stomach starting to protest the sudden onslaught of sugar.

"Why does it have to disappear so quickly?" he sighed, looking up at Dean.

"Dunno," Dean replied after a second, his cheeks pink. "I could... uh, y'know, I could grab you another slice."

"Yes, please," Castiel said without thinking.

Dean scrambled up from his seat, and Cas tried not to let his eyes linger on Dean's plush backside as he fast-walked over to the desert section of the cafeteria. He couldn't help the traitorous voice in his head that whispered, _If Mother and Father were wrong about video games and movies and food, what else could they be wrong about?_

Cas shut down that train of thought quickly as Dean came back with two more slices of dessert and a bag of Doritos. Chocolate cake this time. He set them down in front of Cas and opened the bag of chips for himself, crunching loudly, not caring about the mess he made. The steady motion of his hand to his mouth never varied, and Castiel stared.

"You gonna eye the merchandise all day, or are you gonna eat those?" Dean asked with a smirk. "Cause if you're not-"

"No," Cas answered quickly, pulling the cake closer to himself, "I'll eat it. Thank you, Dean."

Dean grunted around a mouthful of chips in response, and Cas took that as his cue to start eating. He took a bite, and _sweet God,_ cake was even better than pie. Cas managed to say as much between bites, and Dean scrunched up his nose.

"Nothing's better than pie," he proclaimed, brushing off the top of his belly where chip crumbs had congregated.

Castiel just shrugged and finished his first slice eagerly. His stomach was really protesting now, gurgling unhappily, but Cas ignored it. He still had another piece left, after all.

But when Cas began eating his last piece, he started to change his mind. He could feel his stomach straining against his belt, could feel it tossing and turning unhappily, and it wasn't fun. Cas managed to get halfway through the slice before he had to stop, dropping his hands to his stomach and groaning. "Can't finish," he managed to get out.

"Aw, Cas, don't worry," Dean said with a snort as he pulled the remains of Cas' cake towards himself. "They have cake here every day."

Cas made a hopeful noise, his hands working at his stomach in an attempt to ease the pain. He was making up for eighteen years of sugar deprivation, eighteen years of living under his parents' roof. He didn't resent his parents, not really; he just knew that they were wrong about food (or hoped they were, at least). And, if Cas ended up in Hell, at least Dean would be there with him.

Dean and Cas fell into a routine over the course of the next couple weeks. They'd wake up, get breakfast with Dean's brother, go to class, get lunch with Charlie and Dean's other friends, finish their classes, and then go to their various after school activities. Cas had joined the book club, much to Sam's - Dean's brother's - delight, while Dean was captain of the robotics team. But while classes were educational and book club fun, Cas' favorite part of his routine was getting dinner. With Dean.

Only Dean.

Castiel liked Dean's friends, he really did, but he liked Dean the best. Dean, with his plush lips, warm smile, ridiculous sense of humor, contagious laugh, and soft belly. He was everything Cas could ever want (but never let himself have) wrapped in chubby, freckled packaging.

Not to mention the fact that dinner was when Cas really let himself cut loose in terms of food. He'd taken to shoveling down a plate as quickly as possible so he could get to the real prize: dessert. Dinner was really more of an appetizer followed by a multiple-course dessert, at least for Castiel. Dean would bring him pie, cake, cookies, ice cream, and more. Cas didn't even have to get up.

He did, however, have to let his belt out a notch or two, and by the time the fourth week of classes rolled around, Castiel was wearing his belt two holes looser than he used to - three if he'd just eaten dinner - and his pants felt snug around the waist. When he mentioned this to Dean, his friend slash roommate (slash crush, though he was loathe to admit it even to himself) just laughed.

"I'm surprised you can button them at all," he chuckled. "You've really been packing away the calories, buddy. You out-eat _me,_ for fuck's sake, and there ain't many people who can do that."

Cas pulled his shirt up above his stomach and huh, it did kind of look like his binging had taken its toll. His stomach sloped slightly outwards where it had previously been flat, and when Cas poked at it curiously, his fingertip pushed in more than he'd expected it to. When Castiel looked back up and dropped his shirt, Dean's face was red.

"I-I could let those out, uh, if you want," Dean stammered, avoiding eye contact. "Done it a lot for me and my family."

Castiel had seen pictures of Dean's family, and he could imagine what Dean meant. No one in the Winchester family was skinny, ranging from the smallest - Sam, who had a little potbelly and cherubic cheeks - to the largest - Mr. Winchester, whose impressive beer gut surged over his pants in every picture Dean had shown him. 

"That would be much appreciated," Cas said. He wasn't too worried about his weight gain. He'd always been on the skinny side, and getting some more meat on his bones would just make him solid, more mature-looking.

Castiel kept up this attitude for the next few weeks, but when his pants began to tighten again, he started to worry. Filling out to a healthy weight was one thing, but his belt was on the last hole, and it was _still_ much too tight. Not to mention the fact that he'd started doing his pants up under his not-so-insignificant stomach, letting what should be a flat stomach push out over his waistband and tug at the buttons on his shirt. _What would Mother and Father think?_ Castiel started asking himself. 

This was the question buzzing in Cas' mind one weekend as he studied his own shirtless form in the mirror. He wasn't fat yet, not really, but he certainly couldn't be called skinny anymore. His torso was lined with a layer of soft, doughy fat, and even though it couldn't be more than twenty-five or thirty pounds, Cas' small belly and curvy sides jiggled much more than he would have expected. Dean's belly was bigger than Cas', but he didn't jiggle nearly as much. Not that Cas paid a lot of attention to Dean's belly or anything.

It was probably their dietary differences, Cas reasoned. While Dean leaned towards hearty food and the occasional slice of pie, Cas' day was filled with sugar, fat, sugar, and more sugar. Castiel probably consumed between half and an entire cake over the course of his average day, plus whole milk to wash it down, plus whatever else the cafeteria was offering. Plus the M&Ms he'd taken to keeping in their room. Ever since Dean had introduced him to the world of sweets, Cas couldn't get enough.

Which led Cas to his current predicament. He framed his stomach with his hands and turned sideways in the mirror, studying how his indecently tight waistband made him look bigger than he was, how his belly bulged out over his belt. His new weight was a little easier to hide when clothed, but without a shirt, the results of Cas' gluttony were as clear as day.

"Oh crap," Cas heard from the doorway, and he turned to see Dean standing there with pink cheeks. "Sorry, man, I didn't know you were changing."

"It's quite all right," Cas responded, pulling a button-up over his pudgy torso and buttoning it quickly, a little embarrassed to be seen shirtless. He tried to ignore how it felt a little snug near the belly. Maybe he should lay off the sweets. "How was your workout?"

Though Dean hated cardio and refused to run unless something was chasing him - his words - he frequently lifted weights at the school gym, and it showed. His arms pulled at his shirts just as much as his stomach. He was wearing a tank top today, as it was an unseasonably hot day for early October, and his biceps bulged enticingly as he stripped off his shirt, no qualms about his own nudity even though he always seemed to turn into a blushing mess whenever Cas so much as rolled up his sleeves.

"It was good," he said, ignorant of the way Cas' brain lost all function at the sight of a shirtless Dean. He stared as Dean tugged on a new, less sweaty shirt, hypnotized by the way his belly shook where it pushed over the waistband of his gym shorts. He didn't seem to have any of the little pink stretch marks Cas had noticed on his own hips and stomach.

"Can you let out my pants again?" Cas blurted out as Dean started to change his shorts. When Dean lifted his head and raised an eyebrow, Castiel mumbled, "They're getting tight."

"No problem," Dean said casually, though it sounded forced, and Cas couldn't help but notice the way Dean's eyes dropped to his stomach. He purposely pushed his stomach out as far as he could, and Dean swallowed. Well then.

That night, as Cas made new holes in his belt with Dean's pocket knife, he decided that he could deal with a bit of a belly if it meant he could eat the food he loved, even if he didn't like it that much. But Dean seemed to like it a lot, so maybe it would grow on him.


	5. Roomies (2/3)

The next time Cas needed a wardrobe upgrade, he discovered it in the middle of a Halloween party with Dean, Sam, and their friends.

It was just a small group playing horror video games, and Dean had managed to sneak up all the extra junk food from the kitchen. "Friends with the chef," he'd said with a wink, and yeah, Cas could believe that - Dean was ridiculously charming. Jo brought the candy, Benny brought the booze, and Cas was feeling rebellious and happy and pleasantly buzzed.

Cas only wore his uniform pants anymore, as they were the only ones Dean had modified, and all the pants he'd brought with him refused to button over or under his belly. And a belly it was; Cas' love of sweets showed in his soft love handles, curvy hips, and ever-expanding gut. He could feel his torso jiggle with every move he made, his flabby belly straining desperately at his shirt buttons and hanging over his mutilated belt, patches of pale skin visible between the buttons after a large meal. His belly had continued to grow in soft and supple, and Cas often found himself squeezing a roll on his stomach or side, amazed (and embarrassed) at how big he'd gotten in just ten weeks. And terrified of how his family would react when he went home for Thanksgiving break. But he'd cross that bridge when he got to it.

Pushing aside those thoughts, Cas stuffed another Oreo in his mouth and rubbed at where his love handle pushed over his too-tight pants. His pants were suffocatingly small, even when buttoned under his gut, and he was at the very end of his belt, including the holes he'd made himself. He sighed, ashamed that he'd have to ask Dean to let out his pants again - or maybe he should just get new ones at this point - and heard a snap, followed by instant relief.

 _Oh God,_ Castiel thought to himself, slowly reaching over to his belly, lifting up the soft overhang to feel around for his belt. His fingers found the ripped leather where his belt had torn through the sloppily-made hole, the frayed fabric where his button was supposed to be, and the way his growing belly had pushed the zipper down, and he felt his face flush. How was he supposed to get a new belt? New pants? What would happen when Mother and Father saw what he'd done to himself? What _was_ he doing to himself?

As Cas' mind spiraled, he barely noticed Dean sidle up to him with a suspicious gold button in one hand and a barely eaten mega-size bag of mini Hershey bars in the other, the kind with a hundred or so pieces. "This belong to you?" Dean asked in a low voice. "Good thing it's so dark in here; only reason I saw it's cause it hit me in the leg."

"Sorry," Cas muttered, hands busy desperately trying to keep his shirt from bunching up over the lower curve of his stomach and exposing his predicament to the world. "My pants broke."

"I noticed," Dean whispered with a twinkle in his eye. "Don't worry about it, you can borrow mine until you get the chance to order some more. We're probably about the same size anyway."

Mind reeling at the realization that Dean was probably correct, that he'd probably caught up to Dean's weight - something which had taken _years_ to accumulate, or so Dean said - in just over two months, Cas didn't hear what Dean said next. "What?"

"I said you looked hungry-" untrue, Castiel had been eating nonstop for the past two hours, and Dean had to know that "-so I thought you might want a snack." Dean shook the bag of candy and wiggled his eyebrows.

Cas' pants had busted for a reason, and his full belly definitely didn't need more food. It gurgled pitifully from where it rested lightly on his thighs, still not happy about the way Cas stuffed himself with junk even after ten weeks of the same treatment, and against his better judgement, Castiel slurred, "Thanks, Dean," and took the opened bag. Damn, the drinks were really starting to hit him now.

Keeping one hand on his belly to keep his shirt down, Cas attempted to unwrap a piece of candy single-handed. It didn't go well. "Give it here, genius," Dean sighed, and seconds later there was an unwrapped chocolate in the palm of Cas' hand. Cas mumbled his thanks and shoved the candy in his mouth, making a pleased noise at the way it melted. Before he knew it, another unwrapped candy was in his hand, then in his mouth, and then half the bag was gone, and Castiel whimpered pitifully.

This had to be the fullest he'd ever been. Cas dropped both hands to his overstuffed gut, cradling it gently, his shirt slowly inching up and over his rolls despite his efforts to keep it in place. He whined and pawed at the too-tight fabric, beyond caring about what a spectacle he had to be making of himself.

Dean hauled him to his feet and he stumbled, vaguely registering some comment about needing to help Cas back to their room and the resulting teasing from the others. Cas just belched loudly and clutched his distended stomach, fingers squeezing at the taut skin, indifferent to the resounding laughter from the group, not caring that they could see his busted belt and pants clear as day.

Cas felt Dean's guiding arm around his waist as they slowly trekked back to their room, and when his hand squeezed a roll at his side, Cas felt a surge of heat go through him that definitely wasn't from the alcohol. He took a hand away from where it was attempting to hold his stomach steady and snuck it around Dean's waist to do the same, relishing in the sharp intake of Dean's breath and the softness of his love handle as he grabbed at it. Castiel would never do this sober, but currently his parents' words had fled from his head and he really just wanted to know if Dean was as soft and cuddly as he looked.

When Dean deposited Cas on his bed, Cas refused to let go of him. "Wanna snuggle," he slurred, nuzzling against Dean's stomach where it pushed over his waistband. His eyes caught sight of the half-finished bag of candy still in Dean's grasp, and he added, "Wanna _eat,_ " making grabby hands towards the chocolate.

"Buddy, I don't know if you need any more," Dean laughed, but he sat next to Cas anyway, leaning against the headboard. He squeaked when Castiel flung a leg over him and hauled himself into his lap, their bellies squashing together (was Cas' actually bigger than Dean's?), Cas clutching Dean's sides like handlebars. "Um, Cas?" Dean ventured, sounding nervous, though Cas noticed that his hands went straight to his love handles.

"Feed me," Cas demanded, wiggling from his perch atop Dean's lap. He ignored the way his stomach was already protesting his massive food intake, the way his parents' voices whispered about homosexuality in the back of his head, and opened his mouth expectantly. When Dean just stared, Cas whined and wiggled again, feeling his fat shake at the movement as he watched Dean's do the same. Dean snapped out of his stupor and shakily unwrapped a chocolate, brought it to Cas' mouth. Cas greedily took the chocolate between his lips and chewed quickly, moaning at its creamy texture, and Dean swallowed audibly.

They continued like this until only a few pieces were left in the bag. Noticing that the candy was almost gone, Cas sighed sadly and heard two quick _snaps._ Though his shirt had long ago ridden up around his upper belly, he'd still managed to pop two of the buttons, and now Cas' entire belly was on display, pooched out into his (and Dean's) lap. He giggled and panted and opened his mouth for another chocolate, blissfully ignorant of the way Dean's face was bright red. The bag was gone soon enough, and Cas sighed again and grabbed Dean's wrists, brought them around to his belly, and demanded that he rub.

"W-wow, you're awfully pushy when you're drunk," Dean stuttered, pushing his fingers into Cas' bulging gut nonetheless. Cas hummed and leaned forward, rested his head on Dean's shoulder, burped directly in his ear, and promptly fell asleep.

When Castiel woke up the next morning, his head was pounding, his belly gurgling, and his back sore from falling asleep... sitting up? The memories from the night previous rushed back all at once and Cas felt his face flush. He was propped up against Dean, and there was a wet spot on Dean's shirt that Cas had drooled on. They were pressed together and Dean's arms were holding him tight, Cas atop his lap, and Dean's head was tilted against his own, soft snores coming from his slightly-open mouth. He was downright adorable, but Cas was more embarrassed than he'd ever been, fuzzy memories of gorging himself and demanding cuddles resurfacing, not to mention the fact that he needed to pee like a racehorse, and he needed to get up.

Trying not to disturb Dean, Cas wiggled backwards bit by bit, and he was almost free of Dean's grip when Dean snuffled sleepily and pulled him right back into his embrace with his thick arms. Cas shifted uneasily and tried again, but Dean's hold just tightened. A soft sigh ruffled his hair, and oh, Dean was awake.

"Cas," he mumbled sleepily, turning his face towards Cas' until they were breathing the same air. Dean's eyes cracked open and he smiled, humming. Cas felt the breath catch in his throat and his eyes dropped to Dean's lips, a multitude of thoughts swirling, jumbled in his head.

_Wow, Dean's eyes are pretty._

_Did I really eat a whole mega-sized bag of candy last night?_

_Homosexuality is a sin, Castiel._

And then, the question he'd asked himself all those weeks ago: _If Mother and Father were wrong about video games and movies and food, what else could they be wrong about?_

Cas' train of thought screeched to a stop when Dean suddenly kissed him, close-mouthed and sweet. When Cas didn't react, Dean pulled back, eyes sad, mouth open to apologize. Castiel snapped himself out of his stupor - Dean had just _kissed him_ \- and headbutted Dean in his eagerness to kiss him again. With a little more tongue this time around.

During the next few weeks, even though Dean and Cas were officially a couple now, not much changed. They held hands in the hallways, made out in their room (plus a little more), and pushed their beds together so they could share, but they were still friends. They still hung out with their group of friends and got dinner together every day. And if Dean sometimes fed Cas from his own fork, or rubbed his belly after a particularly large or decadent dessert, it was nobody's business but theirs.

Dean and Cas shared clothes now, too, all of Cas' own much too tight around the belly, hips, and thighs. His weight continued to pile on at a steady pace, maybe even faster than before, and by the time Thanksgiving break rolled around, Dean had already had to let out two pairs of his own pants so they'd fit around Cas' rapidly-expanding waistline. He'd kindly mutilated one of his own belts for Cas as well, digging out new holes with a knife so his boyfriend's belly could sit comfortably over it. Cas had grown amazingly large in the past few weeks, and it showed.

Cas' gut surged out in front of him, hanging over his belt and bouncing with every movement he made. It had started to sag, the doughy fat easily succumbing to gravity, and Cas had to tuck his shirt in if he didn't want his lower belly roll to peek out of the bottom. His gut was really more like three rolls stacked atop each other, the biggest and softest on the bottom, filling out and straining at all his shirts and almost liquid-like in its shaking softness. Then came the next roll, his upper belly, the difference marked by a deep crease a few inches above his belly button, and then the small roll atop which his newly-formed breasts sat. Everything was covered in deep, angry stretch marks. It was a marked difference from Dean, whose solid, smooth gut perched primly over his waistband. Cas loved Dean and Dean's body, but he still had mixed feelings about his own.

This was what Cas thought about as he studied his and Dean's blurry reflections in the glass front door of the Winchester home. Their matching uniform pants were slung low under their chubby bellies, Dean's untucked shirt clinging nicely to his gut while Cas' tucked one strained to stay closed, little patches of milky skin visible between the lower buttons, his significantly pudgier love handles bulging out over his curvy hips. He was definitely bigger than Dean now, that was for sure, and Cas was confused as a rush of heat went through him at the realization.

It had taken little convincing to allow Cas to go to Dean's house for Thanksgiving, as Cas' parents didn't really celebrate it - a holiday centered around food and warm, fuzzy feelings wasn't exactly their cup of tea. As a result, Cas had never had a true Thanksgiving meal, and he was quite looking forward to this one.

Sam burst between them and into the house, yelling something about them taking too long, and Dean chuckled and pushed Cas inside ahead of him. He was immediately pulled into Mrs. Winchester's plush frame for a hug, and although Castiel had never met the woman in his life, he hugged back. It just felt right. And if he secretly compared their hips during the hug - hers were just a little wider than his own - nobody needed to know that. Mr. Winchester gave him a firm handshake next, and Cas felt a twinge of jealously as he tried not to eye the man's large, round belly. Somewhere along the line, Cas' love for junk food had turned into a love-hate relationship with his own growing body, and Castiel always felt a weird rush of satisfaction whenever he was the largest person in the room.

The following evening, as Cas studied himself in Dean's full-length mirror, he was struck by the fancy that he wanted to button his pants over his belly tonight, something he hadn't done for months. Castiel sucked in as much as he could and shimmied his waistband up slowly, changing his tactic to sharp, belly-shaking tugs when he got nowhere fast. After a couple sweaty minutes, Cas wheezed triumphantly, the waistband of Dean's old pants nestled firmly in the crease that ran around his torso, his lower belly and love handles safely contained. _Imagine looking like this in front of Mother and Father,_ Cas' mind whispered, and he shuddered.

Forgoing a belt, Cas thundered down the stairs, trying to ignore the uncomfortable pinching in his waist and... other places. He didn't wear underwear anymore - none of his fit - and these pants were not meant to be tugged up this high. But he liked how big it made him feel, liked how it drew attention to the fact that, even with his lower belly contained, Cas' upper belly was still fat enough surge over the waistband and bury his belt loops. God, what was wrong with him?

And Dean liked it too, if his increased staring was anything to go by. Cas rocked his hips as he walked to the table, making sure to put a little extra bounce in his step, all so Dean had more to look at. He sat down heavily in his chair and spread his legs a bit, something he'd been doing lately, as his belly mounded uncomfortably high in his lap if he did not.

Mary and Dean had cooked most of the meal, and Cas made sure to thank them heartily between servings. For him, dinner was usually all about dessert, but this was Thanksgiving, and Thanksgiving was different. Castiel found himself shoveling mound after mound of turkey, stuffing, green beans, and more into his mouth, and before he knew it, he was done with his third plate and his belly was straining to break free from his pants. Dean seemed to sense this and snuck his hand under the table to surreptitiously unbutton them, coughing loudly to cover Cas' quiet moan when his gut flopped out between his thighs.

Dean rubbed his belly through dessert, through Cas' single-handed destruction of a whole pumpkin pie and half a can of whipped cream, and helped Cas rub the stitches out of his side after he hauled himself up the stairs. As Cas leaned against the wall by the top of the stairs and panted, sweat at his brow, he still couldn't help but smile. He'd just had his first Thanksgiving meal, his doting boyfriend was massaging his side cramps away, and he was happy as a clam.

Now Cas just had to figure out a way to come to the Winchesters' for Christmas, too.


	6. Roomies (3/3)

In the three or so weeks of school between Thanksgiving and Christmas break, Castiel managed to outgrow both his - Dean's, really - shirts and pants. Dean just let out the pants again, but not much could be done about the shirts, so he ended up with quite a few popped buttons and even a torn seam. His boyfriend, ever-helpful, would just roll his eyes and fix the rips and tears, but Cas noticed the way he blushed high on his cheeks as he sewed.

By the time break rolled around, Castiel genuinely could not button his uniform shirts any more. No matter how hard he tugged and sucked in, the sides refused to close, and he arrived at Dean's house in one of Dean's stretched-out workout shirts that refused to stay down over his belly. Turned out he hadn't needed to worry about Christmas at all, as his parents were doing some pilgrimage in Jerusalem all break. While Cas was slightly saddened - he hadn't seen his family since they'd dropped him off at school, after all - it was overshadowed by a huge wave of relief. He knew he'd have to face Mother and Father some time, but he was happy putting it off for as long as possible.

Christmas with the Winchesters was just as amazing as Thanksgiving had been, full of hot chocolate and cookies and egg nog and more. Castiel got three new sets of uniform clothes from the Winchester family (which Mary gave him with a wink, making Cas blush furiously), a hefty check from his parents, and two pairs of suspenders that were just from Dean, plus a few other odds and ends. He'd never thought of wearing suspenders instead of a belt, but Westfield's dress code _did_ say you could wear either, and it would certainly save Cas the trouble of unbuckling after meals. Dean kissed Cas when he opened the box set of Star Wars movies he'd gotten him, and Cas smiled.

The day before New Year's Eve, they went shopping for new clothes for Cas. Using the money his parents had given him, Castiel bought shirts in XLs and 2XLs depending on the style, and some jeans and slacks in forty-twos which buttoned under his gut nicely. Dean made Cas try on the size pants he wore - thirty-sixes - and they didn't even come close to buttoning, leading to a make out session in the dressing room.

They grabbed some bigger underwear and were on the way to the checkout when Cas noticed Dean eyeing the women's lingerie. He didn't say anything, but it gave him an idea for Dean's birthday present, and when they got back to Dean's house, he placed a custom order on a women's clothing site.

When the new semester started and Cas got his schedule, he stared at the little black text that read '6th period - Fitness and Wellness.' Otherwise known as gym class. Cas got out of breath going up a flight of stairs; how in God's name was he supposed to survive an entire semester of Gym? When he asked Dean about it, hoping it was some mistake, Dean grimaced sympathetically.

"Gym requirement," he said, squeezing Cas' soft side in silent apology when he groaned pitifully. "I'm sorry, babe, I totally forgot about that. I don't think the teacher's gonna cut you a break, either."

Coach Walker did the exact opposite, actually. From the moment Cas showed up in Dean's gym clothes, basketball shorts pinching under his gut, tank top barely managing to cover his belly button, the gym teacher slash football coach had it out for him. Every class would start with a warmup, Walker said - five laps around the gym, followed by fifty jumping jacks, push-ups, or sit-ups - and only once you had completed everything could you move onto the game-playing portion of the class. He smirked at Cas as he said this, distastefully eyeing the band of fat that couldn't be contained by Dean's clothes, and Cas gulped.

It was just as bad as he'd thought it would be, if not worse. From the moment Castiel broke into a trudging, uneven jog, his breath quickened and he could feel himself start to sweat. Cas had never been the best athlete, even when skinny, and the huge spare tire around his waist certainly wasn't doing him any favors. It bounced with each heavy step he took and yanked the breath from his lungs, making breathing even more difficult. He tried to run with his hands pressed against his gut, both to keep his shirt down and to steady his belly, but it didn't really help, and by the time the last straggler had completed their fifth lap, Castiel had given up and just let his stomach bounce and push up his shirt. He was in the middle of his second lap.

Cas slowly, painfully made his way around the gym as the other kids played dodgeball, his pace slow enough that he could probably walk faster. Dean's tank top had ridden up above his lower belly roll and love handles and Cas relished in the cool air against his skin, trying to ignore the way puddles of sweat were dripping everywhere else on his body, everywhere skin met skin. He ignored the giggles whenever he passed by a fellow student, ignored the way his rolls slapped against each other with every step, ignored his shame at how hard running was for him, ignored his own labored, wheezy breathing.

Near the end of his fourth lap, Cas just couldn't take it anymore and slowed to a walk. He clutched at his belly and panted like a dog, his overtaxed body groaning in pain, the stitches in his sides almost unbearable.

"Hey, Novak!" Mr. Walker bellowed from the other side of the gym. "No walking!"

He worked his way back up to a loping jog, his thick thighs chafing where the basketball shorts had ridden up. Everything hurt, and although no one was being outright mean, Cas could feel pairs of judging eyes on him as he stumbled, could hear the whispers and snickers. If his face wasn't already red as a tomato, Castiel would have flushed in embarrassment.

Somehow, Cas managed to finish his last lap without passing out, throwing up, or dying. He leaned against the (cool, oh so cool) wall and tried desperately to regulate his breathing, cursing Westfield Academy and its physical education requirement. His old school didn't have anything like this.

Cas dragged his feet over to the water fountain and drank greedily, water running down his chin in his haste. He still had to complete his warmup, but Cas had seen other kids getting a drink of water in between running and their chosen exercise, and he probably needed it more than anybody. Leaning against the fountain when he'd finally finished, Cas moaned at the feeling of cool metal against his overheated skin.

"Novak!" Walker yelled, hands on his hips. "You ain't done yet!"

He found an empty patch of gym floor easily enough and sank to the ground before Walker could decide his exercise for him. Sit-ups seemed like the least painful choice, after all.

Castiel got through them much more easily, his belly actually helping him, as it kept him from sitting up too far and sped up the process. It was still tiring, though, and Cas lay prone on the ground afterwards, looking up at the ceiling and wheezing. Suddenly, his view was blocked by a scowling Coach Walker.

"You call that a sit-up? You barely got your back off the ground," he barked, which was untrue, as Cas really had tried to sit up as far as he could before his gut got in the way. "Stand up!"

Although he was angry and tired and fed up and embarrassed, Cas stood, knowing better than to back talk Walker. Still panting, hands trying to rub out the cramps in his sides, Cas thought he heard wrong when Walker said, "Fifty jumping jacks, now!"

"What?" he asked without thinking, eyes wide. He'd already finished his exercise!

"You heard me," Walker said with a nasty sneer. "Get to it before I make it seventy-five."

Fighting the instinct to argue, Cas resigned himself to his fate and did a half-hearted jumping jack, the air sucked out of his lungs when he landed and his heavy belly jolted downward. He gasped and jumped again, thankful beyond belief when Walker's attention was caught by some other student behind him. Jumping jacks were horrible enough without the gym teacher's judgmental gaze upon him.

He still had ten left when the end of school bell rang, and he'd never been more grateful for it in his life. Cas was thirsty, tired, sweaty, sore, and a little nauseous, and he really just wanted to cry, take a nap, or both. Probably both. Thankfully, Mr. Walker had football practice immediately after classes, or else Cas had the feeling he would've been held back and forced to do more jumping jacks. The look in Walker's eye certainly suggested that.

Castiel put a supportive hand on his lower back as he made his slow way to the locker room, attempting to soothe the aches brought on by the bouncing his belly had been subjected to. His back was usually a little sore after a day of lugging around his gut, but this was different, more acute, and Cas was seriously worried that he'd pulled something.

Tugging Dean's sweat-soaked tank top over his head when the locker room door closed behind him, Cas blocked out the quiet snickers when his pale, flabby belly spilled out in front of him. His eyes were suspiciously wet as he hurried into an empty shower stall, his parents' voices spinning around his head for the first time in a long time. _Gluttony is a sin,_ they whispered, _You're going to Hell, Castiel,_ and although Cas knew the words were false, he began to feel very small and very alone.

The next day was even worse. His back was still sore, so the workout was even more painful, and Cas felt a twinge of pain every time his hefty belly bounced back into place over his shorts. He didn't have to do extra jumping jacks this time, but he _did_ have to do jumping jacks, and he finished just before the bell rang because of how slowly he'd done them. There was just enough time left in class for Walker to announce, "Mile run tomorrow! Twenty laps, no excuses!"

Castiel's stomach plummeted as the bell rang. That was four times as far as what they'd done previously, and Cas could barely make it through _that_ without passing out. He had no idea what he'd do tomorrow and went to bed that night dreading the following day, even being the little spoon not enough to make him feel any better. When the day broke, Cas woke up with a knot of anxiety buried deep in his chest, but he didn't say anything to Dean, as he had a huge physics test that day and didn't need Cas' problems on top of his own.

The day sped by, unfortunately, and it was last period before Cas knew it. He lined up with the rest of the class, listened to the lecture about what a 'qualifying time' was - like Cas would make a seven minute mile, right - and eyed the clock nervously. Forty-five minutes of class left, and Cas took about fifteen minutes to run five laps. There was no way he'd finish in time. Wait, what happened if he didn't finish in time?

Before Cas could decide if he wanted to voice his concerns, Walker blew his whistle and everyone took off, leaving Cas to trudge slowly after them. His stomach bounced vigorously, and his back was sore, and he'd had too much to eat at lunch, and running a mile was the last thing he wanted to do right now.

Cas prayed for some way out of this, and it seemed like someone was actually listening, because in the middle of his second lap, Cas landed on his foot wrong and fell and cried out in pain, clutching his ankle. Walker blew his whistle again and everyone stopped running.

The teacher ordered one student - two, after a quick glance at Cas - to help Castiel to the nurse's office. Cas heard him muttering about 'clumsy fatasses' as he hobbled towards the door, a classmate helping him at either side, but he didn't care, because he didn't have to run a mile today. He smiled widely in spite of the pain, his whole day made better by his throbbing ankle.

Turned out he had a grade two ankle sprain, which meant eight weeks of recovery time, which meant _eight weeks of no gym class._ He told this to Dean excitedly as his boyfriend helped him brace his ankle, slightly loopy on the pain medication the nurse had given him as he swayed lightly on the bed.

"You're the only person I know who'd be excited about a twisted ankle," Dean said with a laugh, kissing Cas gently. "Remember what the nurse said - don't put pressure on it, keep your brace on, and let your boyfriend be as overbearing and doting as possible. Capiche?"

Castiel giggled, because the nurse definitely hadn't said anything about that last point, but nodded anyway. He drifted off shortly after and was woken up by Dean's light prodding, because he'd brought Cas dinner in bed, a dinner completely comprised of dessert foods, because he was amazing. Cas said as much as he stuffed a cookie in his mouth and moaned.

"I know," Dean said smugly, producing a half gallon of whole milk from behind his back. Castiel took it with greedy hands and chugged a third of it, belching loudly. "What can I say? I like to keep my boy happy."

He lived up to his words by giving Cas a long belly rub after his feast, Castiel whimpering every so often, his gut pooled onto his lap. Dean had brought a huge amount of food, expecting leftovers, but Cas had eaten it all. He didn't regret it, even if his stomach was very angry with him. And when Dean sucked him off later, Cas held his still-bloated belly in both hands because he needed to keep it from smothering Dean.

When they woke up the next morning, it was to a snow day. Westfield generally didn't call off classes for weather, but the power was down and it was _still_ snowing, so they'd admitted defeat. Dean took the opportunity to pamper Cas again, and Cas spent all day in bed watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer and dozing off whenever the mood struck. His boyfriend joined him for most of the day, only leaving to bring food back from the cafeteria, and when the following day - a Friday - was called off as well, they spent their time similarly. 

And although they really should have been sick of it by now, Dean and Cas had a lazy _weekend,_ too. Dean would cart up load after load of Cas' favorite foods and they'd eat them together, Cas taking the lion's share. But Dean wasn't exactly a slacker, and between Thanksgiving and Christmas and now this, Cas noticed that Dean's chubby belly had gotten a little chubbier, that he wore his belt looser, that his belly button was visible through his tight t-shirts. And on Sunday night, if Dean had to pry open his jeans after their day-long (four day long, really) binge, and if his thick belly rolled over his fly, newly lined with a couple stretch marks, Cas only loved him more for it.

Over the next few weeks, Castiel gained weight at a truly astonishing rate. Instead of going to gym class, he'd sit in the cafeteria for an hour and do homework as he munched on cookies and pastries, the hand not holding a pencil providing a never-ceasing stream of food to his mouth. He'd also been given an elevator key - yes, the school had elevators, but they were reserved for the injured or disabled, and Cas almost wished he'd sprained his ankle sooner. Between no gym, no stairs, extra food, and Dean's doting, Cas found himself with tight pants just two weeks into the semester. His lower belly and hips were really taking the bulk of his new weight, and as a result, Dean had to let out his pants much sooner than usual. In all honesty, Dean let out his pants way more often than necessary, but he always said that he 'didn't want his boyfriend to be uncomfortable,' and Cas wasn't about to complain.

The night of Dean's birthday, Cas stood nervously in front of their mirror as he waited for Dean to come back from the gym. He'd been so confident when buying these, but studying himself in the mirror, he felt a little unsure.

Lacy black boyshorts clung tightly to his hips and failed to cover his whole ass, pale, stretch marked cellulite peeking out the bottom, and his belly hung low enough that you could barely see the panties from the front. His pecs actually filled the small cups of his bra nicely, the foam supports and generous lining making them seem bigger, though it was on the last hook and still too tight in the band, forcing his back fat above and below the elastic. The lingerie made him feel good, but it also made Cas realize just how big he was getting, and he still wasn't completely sold on his new body.

He had to have gained at least a hundred pounds. No part of Cas was recognizable any more except for his face, and even that looked different, chubby cheeks and double chin hiding a previously angular facial structure. His hips, which had always been the skinniest part of him, were curvy and soft, almost like a woman's, and he actually had an ass now. Thick rolls hung where his flat stomach used to be, chunky arms were forced away from his body by generous love handles, and fat thighs ground against each other. And he'd stuffed himself in the cafeteria before changing, so he looked even bigger than normal, and this outfit left nothing to the imagination.

His Mother's and Father's judgmental voices infiltrated his thoughts once more, and Castiel flushed, debating whether he should just scrap the whole idea and put his clothes back on. It was then that Dean walked through the door, sweaty but smiling, and his jaw dropped when he caught sight of Cas. He stood dumbstruck in the doorway, the door still ajar while Cas stood there in women's underwear.

"Close the door!" Cas hissed, yanking Dean further into the room by his hand and shutting the door quickly. This wasn't for anyone's eyes but their own.

Dean, mouth still open slightly, brought his hands up to delicately cup Cas' breasts, almost as if he was afraid to touch them, pupils blown so wide that only a slim ring of green was left around them. "It must be, uh- must be my birthday or somethin'," he joked weakly, slowly raking his eyes down Cas' body. A low moan tore from his throat when he noticed Cas' panties, and he trailed his hands down to play with the lace. "Holy shit, Cas."

Emboldened by Dean's very positive response, Cas hummed and swished his hips from side to side, pleased when Dean stared at his swaying belly. "I got some for you, too, if you want to put it on," he said as he guided Dean's hands to his waist.

"Oh," Dean breathed, and he squeezed Cas' love handles reverently. "Yeah, uh- yeah, I'll try it on in a bit. Just gimme a minute."

He led Cas to the mirror with a dazed expression on his face, and Cas couldn't help but feel a rush of satisfaction. _I put that look there,_ he thought, _me._ Dean pressed himself along Cas' back and Cas felt his panties get a little tighter at the sight, because his body dwarfed Dean's, his fat frame completely obscuring Dean's in their reflection. Dean reached around and trailed his fingers across Cas' swollen belly. Cas shivered.

"Look at you," Dean whispered, chin hooked over Castiel's shoulder. "Beautiful. And this belly," he said, hefting it up with both hands, still not nearly enough to cover the whole thing. "So big, so fuckin' heavy. You're gorgeous, Cas. Perfect just the way you are."

And as Dean continued to whisper in his ear, Cas stared into the mirror, looked at his large, soft body, so different from the way it used to be, and thought to himself, _Yeah, I am._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really did go overboard on this prompt - this final part is the longest one yet! Hope you liked it! There's not enough chubby!Cas in the world :)


	7. Devilish Delights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Dean/Benny one! Baker!Benny, fat!Dean. I don't think the word 'chubby' entirely covers it in this case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Does It Matt3r over on Dreamwidth: "Since you put that you have no weight limit, I want you to write a fic with Dean being the biggest you've ever written! I'd prefer not astronomically obese, but definitely immobile with descriptions, please! :D And have the pairing be either Dean/Cas or Dean/Benny! I love both and thank you!"
> 
> Didn't follow the prompt to the letter - Dean can still get around a bit - but considering the biggest I've written him is 530ish, he's pretty big ;)

The first time Dean ate at Devilish Delights, he knew it would become his new favorite place. He'd heard about it from his friend Victor, a cop who swore by the new bakery's donuts, and Dean, food-lover extraordinaire, visited at the first possible opportunity. One bite into their 'vampire muffin' - red velvet with molten chocolate on the inside - and Dean was hooked. He proceeded to order one of everything they had, eat all of it in-store in one of their booths (the tables weren't bolted down, thank god), then got a dozen donuts to go. Which he promptly ate in the parking lot.

When Dean went back the next day, he knew that his love affair with Devilish Delights was meant to be when the cute cashier, different from the day previous, winked at him and gave him a free cookie. He wished Dean a nice day in the most _delicious_ southern drawl and yup, this was officially Dean's new spot.

From then on, the bakery became the destination of Dean's daily walks. He'd haul his fat ass down four blocks at a snail's pace, give himself a short rest to make sure his breathing was even and face no longer red, and then push through the door into heaven on earth, despite the name. He'd flirt with the hot cashier, place his order, and settle into a booth by the window. The cashier would bring him his food - something he only did for Dean, he couldn't help but notice - and Dean would thank him, and then he'd tuck into his feast.

The original point of Dean's daily excursions had been to make sure he never turned into one of those fatties who couldn't walk. Sure, Dean was big - almost six hundred pounds, last time he'd checked - but he could still get around all right, and he wanted to keep it that way, to keep himself at a somewhat manageable weight. Now the walks were just necessary annoyances standing between him and Devilish Delights, and he was pretty sure that his daily binges weren't exactly helping with his original goal.

Dean generally ordered some combination of a dozen goodies and pastries to eat while he was at the bakery, varying between their pies and cupcakes and muffins and croissants depending on his mood, plus the free cookie he always got. He'd devour it all, table moved as far away from him as possible but always a light pressure against his gigantic gut, the increased breathing room still not enough to leave him entirely comfortable. Still, the slight discomfort and humiliation was nothing compared to the fantastic view of the cashier his seat provided, and even when he wasn't working, Dean needed to stay at the bakery to eat anyway. He couldn't exactly carry a dozen sweets _and_ a dozen donuts home with him.

The walk back was always the hardest, Dean weighed down and content, his back protesting the strain put on it by his massive, hanging belly. He'd graze on the donuts while he shuffled down the sidewalk, and by the time he got to his house, the donuts were almost always gone and his gut almost always full to bursting.

Devilish Delights was the highlight of Dean's day, to say the least.

He was lucky that his job let him fund his purchases; the bakery wasn't exactly cheap, but Dean's two favorite parts about his job had always been the money and the sedentary lifestyle it allowed. Being a (rather successful, if he did say so himself) writer was _awesome_.

Eventually, Dean started writing at the bakery, too. He'd bring his laptop with him when he went, right after lunch, and stay all day, snacking and typing and chilling in the same booth until he left to make himself dinner at six. His pastry intake rose with his increased presence, and pretty soon, Dean realized he was eating close to two dozen goodies over the course of about five hours. Definitely not helping him keep his weight down.

It was, however, an amazing way to progress his relationship with the cute southern cashier. Due to his increased presence, he slowly learned that the man's name was Benny, that he was from Louisiana... and that he was also the baker.

Which made him ten times hotter.

One day, while Dean was taking a break in his writing to contemplate the fact that it was getting harder and harder to squeeze into this booth, Benny sat down next to him with a huge slice of pie. "Hey, brother," he greeted, and did he sound a little nervous? "Got a little favor to ask you."

"Shoot," Dean said with a smile. He loved when Benny gave him his undivided attention like this, and he especially loved when it came with a slice of pie.

"Will you be my taste-tester?" Benny asked, handing the pie off to Dean, a slight blush high on his cheeks, and Dean _really_ wanted to kiss him. "Wanna get a second opinion on this recipe before I set it loose."

"Oh, dude, you didn't even have to ask," Dean said, mouth already watering. He took the plate and placed it on his belly, the way he'd been eating for a while now, as the table was much too far away. Dean took a bite of the dark, crumble-topped pie, not even bothering to ask what it was, 'cause he knew anything Benny baked would be delicious.

A low groan tore itself out of Dean's throat as the sweet, slightly tart flavor burst across his tongue. "Oh my god," he moaned after his first bite, immediately going back in for another. "Benny, this is fuckin' delicious. What is it?"

When Benny didn't respond, Dean glanced over, pie fork sticking out of his mouth. He was staring at Dean's mouth, his own slightly open, pupils blown wide. Dean smirked - hey, he may have been six hundred pounds, but he knew he was still a catch, and Benny was _caught_ \- and snapped his fingers, breaking Benny out of his trance.

"Uh, blueberry-blackberry crumble," Benny said, face pink but smile wide. "You really like it, sugar?" And oh, they'd progressed from 'brothah' to 'sugah,' Dean liked this. He liked it a lot.

"This is one of the best pies I've ever eaten, and I've eaten a lot of pie," Dean said with a wink, shoveling another bite in his mouth with one hand as he slapped his gut with the other.

"Glad to hear it," Benny said with a hearty chuckle, not-so-secretly eyeing the spot where Dean's hand rested on his belly. "Think I'm gonna call it the Leviathan. Want the rest? I can't start sellin' it now - too late in the day - and I sure as hell can't eat a whole pie by myself."

But Dean could and did so pretty regularly. Benny brought out the whole tin and Dean nearly kissed him then and there. Instead, he did the next best thing and ate that entire pie while he made eyes at Benny, not even bothering to be subtle any more about how much he wanted the baker.

After that, Dean became Benny's unofficial taste-tester and garbage disposal. He'd taste whatever new recipe Benny was trying out, give him feedback, and then eat the leftovers. He started ordering less sweets while he was there, and though Benny had to be losing money over this whole ordeal, he didn't seem to mind. He didn't mind so much that he even wrote his cell number on a napkin for Dean two weeks into their little partnership.

Their first real date - not counting all the time Dean spent at Devilish Delights - was at Benny's apartment, which was on the first floor of the building to the bakery's left. Thank _god_ , 'cause Dean fuckin' hated stairs. He made a whole crockpot of gumbo, gave Dean much more than his fair share, and then produced a pecan pie out of nowhere, of which he had one slice. Benny gave the rest of the pie to Dean.

Once they'd finished dessert, they somehow ended up making out, Dean still in his chair while Benny tried his best to sit in his lap. Dean didn't have much of a lap anymore, so Benny mostly ended up straddling Dean's belly with his thighs, but whatever.

"Y'know," Dean said through wheezing breaths after they broke apart, Benny still in his lap, the chair beneath them groaning pitifully, "I've never been against puttin' out on the first date."

And that's how the night ended, with Dean on his hands and knees on Benny's bed, his belly hanging low as Benny plowed into him from behind. A perfect ending to a perfect date, as far as Dean was concerned, and when they set up another date while laying in Benny's bed, he knew his baker felt the same.

This could be the start of something awesome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to name the bakery Devilish Delights because I've seen 'Heavenly Delights' used in several fics where Cas is the baker, so I thought I'd switch it up for Benny. Also, 'Purgatory Delights' just doesn't have the same ring to it.


	8. Home Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More or less set in canon. Chubby!Dean is left at the bunker for a month and watches food network too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from one_red_sock: “Any AU or "canon", if you wish. Dean is left home for a month ... at the dorm, in the bunker, wherever ... and he decides to indulge his inner glutton. He eats constantly the whole time, as much as he dares, and he kind of loses track of time. By month's end, he's stuffed to the gills and packed on the pounds. He can barely move when he hears keys in the lock: someone's come home. NOW WHAT? (Your decision who it is returning. And ... GO!)”

Dean was not pouting, thank you very much, but he was a tad bit annoyed. Stupid fuckin' demon had thrown him down a flight of stairs last week, and now he had a broken leg and was stuck at the bunker while Cas and Sam got to go up to Maine and hunt werewolves. They'd left this morning, and although Dean had enjoyed a rather thorough goodbye kiss from Cas, he was still grumpy and bored ( _not_ pouting) and Doctor Sexy didn't come on until eight. Fuck his life.

He scrolled through the channels absentmindedly as he picked at his cast, stopping when he landed on the Food Network. Dean watched people scramble to make the best lasagna for five minutes before it hit him that hey, Sam wasn't home, no one was there to bitch at him about 'eating right for a man his age' - whatever the hell that meant - and there was leftover pizza in the fridge. And maybe he'd just had lunch, but whatever, his leg was broken and he wanted to treat himself.

Using his good leg and a crutch, Dean hobbled to the kitchen and yanked open the fridge. As he'd remembered, there was the pizza box in all its glory, and when he opened it, he found that more than half of it was left. Hell yeah. He grabbed the box and clumsily walked back to his room, the task a lot more difficult with an occupied hand, but he made it there eventually. Dean plopped back down on the bed, swung his legs up, and got to work as some guy on the TV pulled a burnt lasagna out of the oven.

"Fuckin' amateur," Dean muttered around a slice of cold pizza.

The pizza was gone within the hour. Dean burped loudly and scratched his bare belly, stuffed, sated, and sleepy. One of the great things about being home alone was getting to be as gross as he wanted without Sam's bitchface popping up everywhere, and Dean could laze around in his underwear and do whatever he wanted. The bunker was a judgement-free zone for the next couple weeks, and Dean was planning on taking full advantage of the fact.

He dozed off and woke a few hours later to some guy with crazy hair and a beard eating waxing poetic about sloppy joes. Damn, that actually _did_ look pretty good, and Dean was pretty sure they had the ingredients. It was almost dinner time anyway - well, it was only five, but close enough - and while Dean wasn't exactly hungry, he could go for some food.

Dean ended up making way too much, as he'd just used the first recipe he found without looking at how many it made, and he definitely had enough meat for five sandwiches. Shit. But Dean Winchester wasn't a quitter, and he didn't feel like packing away the leftovers, so he shoveled down five sloppy joes while leaning over the kitchen counter, sauce dripping down his wrist. He was full to bursting and panting like a dog by the end, but he finished it all.

"Ugh," he moaned, gingerly placing a hand on his angry stomach. It was gurgling and bloated and Dean felt like a beached whale. He rubbed gently and _damn_ that felt good, so good he felt his boxer briefs get a little tighter, and soon enough one hand was down his underwear and he was jerking off in the middle of the kitchen. Yet another perk of being home alone.

A week into his staycation, Dean sucked it up and went to the store. He'd been cooking a lot and they had next to nothing left in the fridge, so he pulled pair of sweatpants on over his cast, threw on a flannel, grabbed his keys and crutch, and slowly made his way to the garage. Only his left leg was broken, thank god, but it still made getting in and out of the car a little awkward.

He ended up buying way more food than strictly necessary, but he just couldn't help himself. Watching the Food Network so much had exposed Dean to so many new recipes; he wanted to try them all. And the pre-made pies were on sale, so of course he bought four, and it was nobody's business if he immediately ate an entire pie after getting back to the bunker.

Dean's metabolism had been slowing down lately - he was almost forty, it happened - and he'd noticed his pudge getting pudgier for several months now, even before his broken leg. It was usually easy to hide, not that Dean really cared, but when he had to get dressed the following week for another grocery run, he noticed that his stomach tugged at his henley a bit. He lifted his shirt to study himself in the mirror and- huh. That was indeed a belly. His doughy, slightly rounded middle had transformed into a proper little belly, one that poked out over his waistband and apparently tugged at his clingier shirts. And Dean wasn't even full.

Weirdly fascinated now, Dean poked at his stomach and watched, transfixed, as it sunk in a little. His tiny gut was pretty solid - probably all the beer, heh - but still shook when he jumped experimentally. After a couple more moments of staring at himself, Dean just shrugged and tugged his shirt back down. He was still a badass who hunted monsters for a living and was currently boning his best friend. He could deal with a little extra chub.

Halfway through the third week, Dean got a call from Cas while he was eating Doritos and watching Cupcake Wars. "'Ey, Cas," he managed to get out around a mouthful of chips. One dude's cupcakes came out all weird and deflated, and Dean grumbled, "Idiot."

"What was that?" Cas asked, sounding offended.

"Not you, dumbass," Dean snorted, "guy on TV. What's the news?"

"Oh," Cas said. "Well, the werewolves are dead, but we have suspicions about a vampire nest in Vermont and may be gone for another week, most likely two. Will you be all right?"

"'M fine, don't need friggin' babysitters," Dean said petulantly as he dropped a hand to his belly. Damn, he was full. "Good luck on the hunt."

"Thank you, Dean."

A beat of silence.

"I miss you."

Dean blushed furiously, muttered, "'Miss you, too," and ended the call. He rubbed his stomach as he contemplated his situation, the cupcake guy having a breakdown in the background. On one hand, he wasn't gonna see Cas (or have sex) for another week or two, and this whole eating whatever he wanted thing was making him surprisingly horny, but on the other... he got another two weeks of lazing around in his underwear and stuffing his face. Fair trade, really.

Third grocery trip of the month and Dean's belly was really tugging at his shirt now, a little crease in the fabric evident where it was starting to bunch up above his stomach. He tugged the sweats' waistband a little lower, too - he'd just had a whole medium pizza and cinnamon sticks, give him a break. Weirdly enough his nipples were also more evident, and when Dean pinched at one to see what the deal was, there was a little more to pinch than normal. Interesting.

He ended up with loads and loads of discount Easter candy. Hadn't celebrated the holiday since he was four, but Dean would be damned if he didn't take advantage of the great deals on chocolate bunnies, jelly beans, and weird little chocolate-hazelnut carrot things. Even the judgmental look the cashier gave him, eyeing the pounds upon pounds of candy and Dean's too-tight shirt with disdain, wasn't enough to put a damper on his good mood.

That night, Dean ate more candy than he thought humanly possible. He fell asleep surrounded by wrappers, both hands cradling his overtaxed gut, too far into his food coma to bother cleaning up.

While eating breakfast the following morning, Dean learned that his belly brushed his thighs when he sat, pooched out just barely into his lap. Some part of him wondered what it would be like if it bulged out even more, even further, if his pecs softened up even more until they were little breasts, and Dean proceeded to eat so many pancakes that he had to rest at the table for twenty minutes before he could get up. This gut was really starting to grow on him. Pun intended.

Somewhere in the middle of his fifth week alone, Dean was napping on the couch (yes, they'd finally bought one) when the slam of the bunker door woke him up. He sat up quickly, disoriented, and was face to face with Cas and Sam. Oh crap. He'd forgotten they were getting back today.

"Hey," he grunted, trying to be nonchalant despite the fact that he was sitting in his underwear on the couch, surrounded by beer bottles and empty plates, visibly chubbier than before they'd left. "How was the hunt?"

"Fine," Sam said after a moment, eyebrow raised, still surveying the carnage. Cas didn't say anything, and Dean shifted uncomfortably. "But christ, Dean, what did you do while we were gone? Eat a small country?"

Dean scowled and crossed his arms over his belly protectively. "Fuck off."

"I'm not kidding, dude. Wait, no, I've got it - are you pregnant?"

Face heating up, Dean slouched further into the couch cushions, self-conscious about his weight gain for the first time. The position just made his belly pooch out even more, his round, plump stomach smothering the waistband of his underwear and resting lightly on his thighs. "I said fuck _off_ , Samantha."

"You have gained a significant amount of weight, Dean," Cas cut in, and oh god, not him too.

"So?" Dean spat defensively. "I haven't been able to exercise lately. 'S not my fault."

"Because you're usually all about working out," Sam said with a smirk, and goddammit, Dean didn't need to take this shit, even if he could usually brush off Sam's teasing easily. He grabbed his crutch angrily, pushed himself off the couch, and hobbled as quickly as he could away from Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Asshole.

"Dean, wait!" Cas called after him, and he walked faster. "Dean!"

Fast for Dean wasn't exactly fast for everyone else, however, and Castiel caught up with him before he'd even reached his room. He spun around furiously when Cas touched his shoulder and yelled, face red from both embarrassment and anger, "Leave me alone!"

"Please-"

"I like cooking, and I like eating, and I'm almost forty, you dick, so sorry if I don't have rock hard abs! And I also happen to like my body, thank you very fuckin' much, so if you don't-"

" _Dean_ ," Cas said loudly, effectively cutting off his rant. "I know. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be hurtful. The extra weight looks quite good on you, actually."

Although Dean wanted to brush it off, pretend like all was fine and dandy, he instead asked, "You think so?" in a quiet voice. Dammit, he usually didn't care about other people's opinions, but he really liked Cas, and it had kinda hurt when he and Sam had made fun of him. He was used to Sam's teasing - it was practically in his job description as little brother - but everyone needed a little validation now and then, especially from their... from their Cas.

"Yes," Cas said firmly, bringing his hands to Dean's hips. He squeezed gently and rubbed at Dean's belly with his thumbs, and Dean couldn't help the little sigh that escaped him. Then they were kissing in the hallway as Cas ran his big hands up and down Dean's body, caressing every inch of new fat, Dean pressed against the nearest door. Cas broke the kiss and whispered, "It really is quite becoming on you."

Dean, the mature adult that he was, couldn’t resist saying, "You could be coming on me, too," and although Cas rolled his eyes, he couldn't help but notice how his hands tightened around his belly.

"Hey Dean, what did you do with- Oh my god!" Sam yelled as he rounded the corner, hand slapping over his eyes. "Guys, that's my door! Ew!"

"Sucks to be you," Dean said as he pulled Cas closer and grabbed his ass. His belly was squashed against Cas' shirt.

He cackled as Sam turned tail and fled back to the common area, and although Cas half-heartedly admonished him, they continued to defile Sam's door for several more minutes until they finally stumbled to Dean's room so Cas could show him just how 'becoming' his extra weight really was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really loving the prompts so far, keep ‘em up guys!! Even if it’s as simple as a pairing, lemme know what you want!


	9. Retired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set eight years after Dean and Cas have (more or less) retired from hunting. Chubby!Dean, fat!Cas (because chubby doesn’t really cover it in this case).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon named ‘nonny’ requested some fat!Cas, and anon named ‘Oops’ gave me this prompt: “Season 13 AU, after coming back from the dead, Cas is weakened and almost human. Dean takes to spoiling Cas rotten with food while he recovers, and then it's just habit (and Cas realizes how much Dean likes Cas at home and safe so really he's helping Dean by allowing him to feed him up) Cas becomes quite the spoiled couch potato due to all the goodies and Netflix he could ever want. And he may not strictly NEED help moving around yet, but Dean loves helping him anyway, gotta keep his precious angel safe getting off the couch.”
> 
> I... may have taken some liberties with the prompt, but the premise is basically the same! Just several years AFTER s13 instead of during.

“Let me get that for you, babe.”

Dean scrambled out of his chair, walked around the table, and picked up the napkin Cas had accidentally dropped on the floor. He placed it back on the table and gave Cas a sweet kiss, and Castiel smiled.

“Thank you,” he said. He’d learned long ago that it was best to simply allow Dean to help him. Not to mention the fact that Dean’s help was becoming more and more necessary the bigger Cas got, and he honestly wasn’t sure if he could’ve picked the napkin up himself.

He continued to stuff himself with Chinese takeout, foregoing chopsticks in favor of a fork. It was faster to eat this way, and these days, Castiel was all about eating as much as possible in the shortest amount of time. His stomach didn’t like to be kept waiting. Cas shoveled fried rice in his mouth at a truly amazing rate, and although he knew he didn’t look particularly sexy while doing so, Dean gazed at him with longing eyes from across the table.

It had all started after Cas came back from the dead, battered and bruised and _human_ , Mary Winchester supporting him, a bum knee the result of a fight he didn’t remember with an entity he couldn’t name. Dean had greeted him with a rather enthusiastic kiss, and that was how almost a decade of tension was resolved in the span of thirty seconds.

His new lifestyle was the result of his knee and Dean’s preoccupation with taking care of him - which in this case meant feeding Cas, allowing him to be as lazy as he wanted, and encouraging Cas to keep weight off his knee. He was healed completely within a couple months, but by then Dean was accustomed to helping (and feeding) Cas, and Cas was accustomed to being helped (and fed), not to mention the fact that Dean’s brand of caring had slammed him with forty pounds of fat, so he stayed at the bunker as a sort of Bobby-like figure, manning the phones and doing research while Dean, Sam, Jack, and Mary went off on hunts. Dean started to stay back with him more and more, and eventually it made the most sense for them to just move out and become hunting consultants, because neither of them were actively hunting anymore. And when you have a nephilim on your side, you can afford to relax a bit.

So here they were, eight years later. They both had civilian jobs - Dean as a plumber and handyman, Cas as an online tutor - and consulted for hunters far and wide, and although Dean had planned on hunting a little, the truth was that he hadn’t been on a hunt in three years. They were frequently visited by family and friends and the occasional Jehovah’s Witness, and life was good.

Dean’s body reflected his new civilian status. His beard was more grey than brown at this point - although his hair was still annoyingly grey-free - and his laugh lines were settled deep into his face. He was still strong and muscular, but a thick layer of softness blunted his hard edges and made him look more like a teddy bear than a grizzled ex-hunter. In Cas’ opinion, Dean was more beautiful than ever, the added weight complimenting but not overwhelming his features. Castiel, on the other hand...

Dean’s predilection for feeding him hadn’t lessened in intensity, and somewhere along the line, Cas had discovered a love for eating. He loved sweets, hearty soups, fancy dishes, greasy fast food, and more. Combined with Dean’s ability to cook and Cas’ sedentary lifestyle, he’d really packed on the pounds. Dean was practically a twig compared to him.

Cas engulfed the poor chair he was sitting in, and each shift of his weight made it creak and groan loudly. His wide hips hung over the edges and his fat belly spilled into (and past) his lap, and Cas often used the top of his gut as an armrest, table, or shelf. The food carton was resting on it now but Cas found that his arm was nonetheless tiring from the repetitive motion of hand to mouth.

“Dean,” he began, licking a bit of duck sauce off his wrist, “I’m tired. Could you please feed me?”

Dean’s eyes lit up and he quickly moved his chair around to Cas’ side of the table. “Of course,” he said, already reaching for the carton.

By now, Cas was accustomed to Dean’s caring nature and desire to help. He’d started asking for help with simple tasks like this years ago and never looked back. He was fed the rest of the rice, chicken and broccoli, lo mein, kung pao chicken, and egg rolls on top of what he’d already eaten by Dean’s careful hand. His other hand rubbed large circles onto Cas’ stuffed belly, and Dean made soothing noises when it gurgled angrily.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmured as he fed Castiel another egg roll. Cas belched loudly and leaned back further in his chair, his stomach full to bursting, his breath shallow. Dean stood up and grabbed an unopened gallon of ice cream from the freezer. When he returned with his prize, Cas huffed out a laugh.

“You know,” he wheezed, “maybe I’d be able to feed myself if _someone_ didn’t insist on stuffing me all the time.”

“You know you love it,” Dean said with a smirk. He held up a spoonful and Cas opened his mouth automatically.

Cas did indeed love it. He loved it when Dean fed him, when he came home from work with bags upon bags of fast food, when he pushed Cas past his limits and left him unable to move for the next hour. Castiel also loved his huge body, and Dean did, too.

The ice cream slid easily down his throat and joined the Chinese in his stomach. His bare belly - Cas generally didn’t wear shirts when it was just him and Dean in the house - crept slowly across his thighs as he ate, and by the time the container was empty, he was bloated beyond belief and stuffed to the gills. Cas could barely take short little breaths as he sat there, flexing his fingers, feeling decadent.

His gigantic, cellulite-lined thighs were spread wide to accommodate his growing belly, and said belly sagged low between them and spread across his lap. The biggest part of Cas was definitely his gut, although his hips and ass were a close second. All of his fat was soft and pliable and heavy in the form of thick rolls that lined him from knee to neck. Cas was currently holding onto one of these rolls at his sides and he squeezed deliberately, relishing in the way his fat molded to his fingers.

Dean finished off the last of the Chinese while Cas digested. He sighed when he was done and popped the button on his jeans, allowed his belly to expand to its full size. Cas couldn’t help but notice the angry red lines left from the waistband. Huh. Maybe Dean was a little bigger than he thought.

“Think I might need to lay off the beer,” Dean joked, giving his gut a fond pat. “I’m gonna have to go clothes shopping soon.”

“I need new leggings anyway,” Cas said as he picked at the waist of his pants.

Since he almost never left the house, Cas had taken to wearing leggings (and only leggings, if you caught his drift). They were stretchy, strong, and cheap, and it didn’t hurt that they clung to every roll and curve he had. His gut hung down low enough that he generally wore the waistband around it, contained his lower belly while the upper portion flopped over top. But right now he was just too full and the pants just too tight, so Cas shoved the leggings down below his stomach and let his gut hang out, put all his pale flab on display.

Even when he was this full, Cas’ belly was pliant and liquid-like, wobbling atop his lap with every little movement. Dean’s eyes locked onto Cas’ naked gut automatically and he licked his lips, shifted forward in his chair until he was close enough to touch. Cas couldn’t help but notice how Dean needed to spread his legs, let his plump belly slot between them, to do so.

“You’ve gained weight,” Cas said as Dean rubbed his stomach.

Dean blushed. “Yeah. Weighed myself yesterday. Two seventy-three.”

“That’s ten pounds in the last month,” Cas pointed out. “You’re getting pretty big, Dean - you usually gain that much in a year.”

“You’re one to talk,” Dean said with a scowl, and he retracted his arms to fold them in front of his belly self-consciously.

Realizing that he was making Dean uncomfortable, Castiel backtracked quickly. Eight plus years as a human and he still didn’t get the intricacies of their speech. “No, Dean, I didn’t mean it like that. I think you look more beautiful than ever.”

“Damn right,” Dean muttered, though he was blushing even more deeply than before. “And I’m _handsome_ , Cas. Not beautiful.”

Though he hummed in agreement, Cas begged to differ. Dean’s facial features were soft, his lips plush and pink, and he was the owner of a rather generous set of curves. His hips and belly were thick enough that they almost spanned the width of his wide shoulders, and his pecs had softened into two little handfuls that rested on his gut. Although the beard and muscles and deep voice clearly marked Dean as a man, his round, curvy body had softened his edges, made him a little more feminine-looking, and he truly was beautiful.

“Besides,” Dean said with a smirk, snapping Castiel out of his thoughts, “we all know you’re the trophy wife anyway.”

Cas chuckled. Dean did like to show him off on the rare occasion they went out, and he always kept a possessive hand at the small of his back while they walked (more like waddled, in Cas’ case) together, like someone might snatch him away if Dean wasn’t careful, as if a lot of people were trying to land an obese ex-angel. And the only place they really went on dates was the local buffet, because they had special seats for people of Cas’ size, and Castiel sincerely doubted that anyone went there to pick up men. And Dean was the only one for him anyway.

Come to think of it, they hadn’t actually been on a date in almost six months. “Let’s go out tomorrow,” Cas said.

“Actually,” Dean said, still massaging Cas’ stomach, “I got permission from the hardware store to use their industrial scale after-hours, and I was gonna surprise you with a visit. I guess it’s not a surprise anymore, but what do you think?”

Cas shivered in anticipation, excited at the idea of finally getting to know his own weight. He’d outgrown their scale four years ago when he’d reached four hundred pounds, and it was kind of difficult to go to the doctor’s office when you didn’t have a birth certificate, social security number, or any real proof of your existence. He knew he was big, but he’d love to be able to put a number on it.

“That sounds perfect.”

Soon enough, Cas was squeezing himself into Dean’s work truck. The bench seat was all the way back but Cas _still_ had trouble fitting. He needed help up, help shimmying into the cabin, help buckling his seat belt. The rightmost seatbelt (plus extender) was buckled into the slot meant for the middle seat and still cut into his fat, his belly squashed against the dashboard, and his left side nearly engulfed Dean. Cas’ tight leggings and rarely-worn shirt were just making him feel like more of a sardine stuffed into a too-small tin. Dean’s truck was a little on the small side, but Cas had been able to fit a lot more easily even just six months ago.

“Might need to start putting you in the bed,” Dean joked after the short ride as they pulled up to the dimly lit store. He jumped out of the truck and went around to Cas’ side, pulled open the door, and offered both hands to help Castiel down. Cas shuffled along the seat until he was half hanging off and grasped Dean’s hands gratefully, started to shift his weight. Their arms shook as Dean helped him down, and after a bit of a struggle, Cas had both feet on the ground.

“That sure as hell ain’t getting any easier,” Dean wheezed, hands resting on his knees. Cas grunted in agreement and shut the car door behind them, his own breath shallow after such a task, and he knew that he wouldn’t fit in the truck for much longer, Dean’s jokes aside.

Dean stood upright after a couple seconds and took a deep breath, his fat middle making his shirt ride up. He gave his belly a lazy scratch, pulled the hem back down, and wrapped an arm around Cas so he could help him walk. “Let’s get goin’, tons of fun.”

Cas scowled at the nickname and pinched Dean’s side, and it was only after Dean’s embarrassing yelp that he started to trudge towards the entrance. Little trickles of sweat were running down his face by the time they made it to the door. Dean let go of Cas momentarily to unlock the door - “Crazy, right? Being friends with the owner has its perks.” - and offered Castiel a hand after opening it. They wouldn’t fit through side by side, not in a million years, but Dean still wanted to help and Cas still needed it.

“Sideways, baby,” Dean murmured, and Cas huffed out a breath. He knew the drill by now; he hadn’t been able to fit through single doors straight on for about a year now. Cas turned to the side and slowly shimmied to the right, one hand on the door frame, one in Dean’s, and he had to suck in a bit to get the fattest part of his belly through the small space. Dean looped an arm back around him once he was through, and Cas was relieved to see that the scale was only a few paces to their left. He needed a rest. Hauling himself around was extremely difficult, and the fifteen or so steps he’d taken so far were pushing it; usually, he’d have taken a break already.

“Okay,” Dean said to himself as they approached the floor scale. “I just gotta turn this thing on, and then it’s smooth sailing.”

“For you, maybe,” Cas complained, trying to rub his lower back, though he wasn’t even close to reaching. “My back hurts, I’m tired, and I’m sweaty. Why’d we have to do this in July?”

“You wanted to, dumbass. Now get on the scale.”

“How much does this read again?” Cas asked, choosing to ignore Dean’s comment. He was too heavy for almost all scales now, and was a little skeptical that Dean had finally found an adequate model.

Dean squatted down with a grunt to start up the scale. “Thousand pounds,” he responded, “so don’t worry. Now get your hot little bod over here.”

Cas snorted but did as he was asked, and Dean let out a loud gasp. “What is it?” Castiel asked impatiently, for he couldn’t see the number around his stomach. “Dean?”

“Guess,” Dean said faintly, and he grabbed Cas’ meaty leg as if to steady himself.

Though he really just wanted to know, Cas sighed in resignation. “Five eighty?” he guessed. It had to be a big number to get a reaction like that out of Dean, and maybe it was a bit of an overestimation, but maybe not.

“Higher.”

Oh. “Six hundred?” Cas hedged, and Dean squeezed his calf tightly.

“ _Higher._ ”

“Six fifty?” Cas’ mind was reeling. He knew he was big, but these numbers were unbelievable, representative of a size he never thought he’d reach.

“Do you want me to just tell you?” Dean asked, and Cas let out a weak affirmative noise. “Seven thirty-two.”

_What?_

He must have heard wrong. “Could you repeat that please?” There was no way he’d just heard Dean say that he was-

“Seven hundred and thirty-two pounds, sweetheart.” He shuffled forward, grabbed two big rolls at Cas’ sides and pressed his face into his belly. “That’s fuckin’ ridiculous,” Dean said, words muffled.

Cas stood there, still stunned, as Dean kissed and nuzzled his stomach. He absentmindedly swished his hips and laid his hands over Dean’s, relishing in the way his fat shook. Seven hundred pounds. _Plus_. Never in a million years had Castiel pictured himself growing so large, large enough to not fit through doors, large enough to tire after a mere two minutes on his feet.

“You realize what this means, right?”

“Hmm?” Cas said, still caught up in the sheer size of his body.

“We weigh a thousand pounds between the both of us,” Dean pointed out, taking a moment to lift his face from Cas’ belly and look up, eyes hooded. “We’d max out the scale.”

Castiel squeezed Dean’s hands and tugged, a signal for Dean to get up. Dean hoisted himself up, one hand on the wall, one on his gut, and immediately plastered himself to Cas’ side. He pressed into Cas desperately, barely managed to get close enough to give him a kiss on the cheek, too much fat in the way to get any closer. A hand slipped underneath Cas’ shirt and rubbed, knocked soft rolls into each other, and Cas huffed, the violent jiggling pulling the breath from his lungs.

Just eight or nine years ago, Cas had been an angel of the Lord, able to move at the speed of light, to fly wherever he wanted within seconds. Now he was human, unable to walk a dozen paces without needing a rest, so fat that he couldn’t even get his belly rubbed without difficulty. He should be ashamed of himself.

Instead, Castiel asked, “Does this warrant a trip to the buffet?”

Dean laughed. “Of course,” he said. “It’s not every day that you hit seven hundred and thirty-two pounds, baby. We can do whatever you want.”

Screw being an angel, Cas thought - being a human was _so_ much better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really becoming an even mix of chubby!Dean and chubby!Cas, isn’t it? I’ve got another fic ready to post in a few days, and one more I’m working on, but leave me some more prompts!!


	10. In Which Dean is the Pitcher for Once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> High School baseball AU, chubby!Dean/Cas. Cas is the team captain, Dean’s the new kid, and I’ve only seen like 4 baseball games in my life, so this might be 100% incorrect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve had this in my drafts for a while. It’s not based on a prompt, but who doesn’t love chubby!Dean in a baseball jersey?? And I’m sorry, I just couldn’t resist the title pun.

The first time Castiel met Dean Winchester, he tripped over a baseball bat. Well, not quite in that order, but. Still.

It was the first day of baseball tryouts, and while Cas didn’t strictly need to be there - he was already a senior captain, he didn’t exactly need to secure a spot on the team - he and his co-captain, Michael, had come to show their support. They were helping the coach set up drills before the other boys arrived, and as such, Castiel was just walking back from the outfield when he slipped on a stray bat and ate dirt.

Cursing his clumsy self, Cas scrambled to get up as quickly as he could, red in the face. Dammit, he needed to look poised and in-control in front of his future teammates. Not like a baby horse trying to walk for the first time. Hoping no one had seen him, Cas busied himself nonchalantly trying to rub the dirt off his white pants. It was fruitless, as it always was, but that never stopped him from trying.

“Holy shit, are you okay?”

Oh god. Someone _had_ seen him. And he didn’t recognize the voice, so it was probably a new guy, someone young and impressionable, who had just borne witness to their captain’s face plant. 

“Fine, thanks,” Castiel responded tersely, embarrassed beyond belief. He decided to play it cool and turned to meet the faceless boy, but that plan ground to a screeching halt when he caught sight of said boy.

The guy was beyond attractive, big eyes and hooded lids and plush lips and high cheekbones combining to form a face surely shaped by God himself. His baseball jersey showed off his broad chest and thick arms, amazingly developed for a highschooler, and hugged his plump belly deliciously. He pressed every single one of Cas’ buttons, and Castiel struggled to tear his eyes away.

Aware of how long he’d been staring now, Cas cleared his throat awkwardly as his cheeks burned and stuck his hand out forcefully. “I’m Cas Novak,” he said.

“Um, Dean Winchester. I’m a senior, just moved here,” the guy said, grasping Cas’ hand, and Cas noticed that he was blushing a bit too. The cute boy - Dean - opened his mouth to say something else, but the coach blew his whistle loudly and the other boys jogged over to the pitcher’s mound. He shrugged apologetically and turned to join them, and Cas almost had a heart attack; if he thought the view from the front was good, the view from the back was even better.

Cas tried his hardest to focus on all his potential teammates that day, but his eyes kept getting drawn back to Dean. At first it was because he couldn’t stop staring at his ass (and face, and belly), but then it was because Dean demonstrated that he had the best throwing arm their school had seen in decades.

He wasn’t the fastest runner by any means, and his hits were solidly mediocre, but when it came time for the pitching exercise, Dean’s pitches whizzed through the air at amazing speeds and hit their targets every single time. Even Michael was impressed, and Michael was never impressed.

Since their previous pitcher had graduated last year, Dean made the team easily, though he probably would have made it even if they already had a pitcher. He was just that good. They had a designated hitter for the pitcher anyway, so his somewhat subpar skills in the hitting and running departments didn’t matter in the slightest.

While he was glad they had a promising pitcher, Cas was mostly excited because he’d be able to see Dean for the rest of the season. And, since Cas was the second baseman, he’d also get to see Dean from the _back_ , if you caught his drift.

During the first few weeks of practice, before their games started, Cas continued to steal glances at Dean from his vantage point on second base. He’d look at the way Dean squatted down a bit right before his windup, they way it made his ass strain against the seat of his tight pants. He’d study the way Dean’s soft sides sloped over his waistband, and the way he’d stretch his arms over his head, making his already snug jersey strain even more, the little buttons practically begging to break free.

When Castiel went up to bat, he could swear he saw Dean doing to same to him. Dean’s eyes would flick to Cas’ thighs, or face, or arms, and then he’d turn a bit pink in the cheeks and finally pitch. It happened consistently, and one day, Cas decided to ask his friend and teammate Balthazar what he thought.

“Bloody hell, Cassie,” Balthazar said with an eye roll. “You two idiots have been ogling each other all season, and it’s only been three weeks. Please, _please_ do something about all the UST - it’s driving the rest of us crazy.” 

Balthazar was a bit of a drama queen, so Cas asked his friend Alfie, too.

“Yeah, it’s a bit much,” Alfie admitted, looking uncomfortable even as he said the words. “It kinda feels like you guys might jump each other on the field about fifty percent of the time.”

Armed with the knowledge that Dean liked him back, Cas... did absolutely nothing. He didn’t want to start something and then screw it up; he liked Dean too much. So the tension built and built, and the team got more and more annoyed, and Dean got cuter and cuter.

Finally, it was time for their first game. It was against their rival school, so a lot of people people were in the stands, and Cas couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. Logistically, not a lot was riding on this game - it was only the first one, after all - but if they lost, it would really be a blow to the team’s morale.

It turned out that Cas needn’t have worried. Only a small handful of players on the other team could even come close to hitting Dean’s pitches, and between that and their own stellar hits, the game ended 5-1 without much nail-biting.

Everyone on the team was still beyond ecstatic, Cas included, so it wasn’t entirely his fault when he ran up to the pitcher’s mound and planted a big kiss right on Dean’s lips.

Dean kissed back without hesitation. Cas snuck his hands around Dean’s waist, and when Dean grabbed Cas’ butt, the coach blew his whistle and yelled something about keeping it PG. They broke apart and ignored their teammates’ mutterings of ‘finally’ and ‘about time,’ giggling together as they strolled off the field, arms tucked around each other, triumphant.

From that point on, Dean and Cas were inseparable. They walked together, talked together, ate together, practiced together, and were generally disgustingly adorable. They’d go to the local diner after practices and share a milkshake, and then Dean would have another to himself, claiming he was a growing boy.

One day, near the middle of the season, they were hanging at the diner as usual. Both shakes were gone and they were holding hands under the table, but Cas couldn’t help but notice the way Dean was eyeing the empty glasses. “Still hungry?” he teased, and Dean ducked his head.

“A little,” he muttered, “but I still have dinner at home after this,” and Cas went up to the counter and ordered another milkshake. Dean spluttered a bit when he brought it back, eyes wide. “Cas, I really shouldn’t have another,” he said with a hand on his belly.

“But I thought you were a growing boy,” Cas challenged, eyebrow raised, and Dean took the bait easily enough. He eagerly sucked down his third milkshake and sighed afterwards, leaning back in their booth. He unbuckled his pants with a dumb smile on his face and hummed when Cas, feeling bold, placed a hand on his gut.

“So full,” he whispered as he gently rubbed, and Dean whimpered quietly. “No wonder you’ve got this big old belly, eating like this.”

They jerked each other off in the diner’s single stall bathroom, overwhelmed and turned on by Cas’ words and Dean’s appetite. Someone banged on the door and Dean laughed, still panting, his forehead against Cas’.

It was perfect.

That Friday, Cas was invited to dinner at the Winchesters’. They still went to the diner after practice, and he convinced Dean to have a heaping slice of pie between his second and third shake, saying that he could just go easier than usual on dinner. Dean had to undo his belt again, let his stomach expand as needed, and when he re-buckled, it was on a notch looser. The last one. Castiel gave him a secret belly rub under the table and whispered praises in his ear.

Once Dean’s stomach had the chance to settle a bit, he and Cas paid and drove to the Winchester home together. Dinner was delicious, pulled pork sandwiches and potato wedges, but Dean only took a thin sandwich and small handful of wedges for himself. He ate slowly, shifting uncomfortably atop his chair, picking at his constricting waistband, and stifling burps all the while.

“Dean, baby, are you feeling okay?” Mrs. Winchester asked, a worried look on her face. “You love pulled pork.”

“‘M good,” Dean reassured her, but she just frowned even deeper, so Dean ate another potato wedge with a forced smile.

“I’ll get him some more,” Cas announced, ignoring the pleading look Dean shot him. He took Dean’s nearly empty plate and stood up, filled it with an overflowing sandwich and huge pile of potatoes. Mary looked satisfied, Sam looked bored, and Dean looked desperate when Castiel returned. If Dean didn’t finish his plate, his mother would just worry even more.

Dean sucked it up and took a bite of his new sandwich, but Cas could see and hear how unhappy his stomach was with him. It gurgled and pushed up his shirt, sat in his lap, big and bloated and heavy. If he hadn’t changed out of his jersey after practice, Cas had the feeling that Dean would be down a button or two.

In the middle of his pile of potato wedges, Dean finally caved and unbuckled his pants once again. His snap fly burst apart and he unzipped for good measure, and Cas was transfixed as Dean’s gut surged further across his lap, a wide strip of pudge visible that wasn’t covered by shirt or pants. Mary didn’t bat an eye, and Sam just snorted and called him ‘fatso,’ so apparently this was a fairly common occurrence in the Winchester household.

Though he was panting uncomfortably by the end of his plate, Dean managed to finish all the food. He leaned back in his chair with a groan, and Cas snuck a hand onto Dean’s belly under the table, never pausing in the polite conversation he was having with Mrs. Winchester.

During the drive back to Cas’ house, Dean sat in the driver’s seat with his pants still undone, belly sitting in his lap, and he punched Cas lightly in the arm. “Asshole,” he said with a slight smile, one that turned into a grimace when they went over a pothole and his stomach was jostled. “Feel like I’m gonna explode thanks to you.”

“You know,” Castiel pointed out, “you didn’t exactly have to eat everything I gave you, at your house or the diner.”

Dean just blushed in response.

Mary had given Cas a standing invitation to join them for dinner - he’d accidentally revealed that his parents weren’t home much, and that he mostly had to fend for himself when it came to meals - and after some convincing, he became a fixture at their dinner table from that point onward. He’d stuff Dean full of milkshakes and pies and more at the diner, unbeknownst to Mrs. Winchester, and then they’d go back to Dean’s house where Dean would choke down two plates of dinner.

“Tryin’ to make me fat,” Dean complained one night as he drove Cas home. “I don’t think I’ve eaten that much food in my entire life.”

Cas had brought Dean a total of three milkshakes, three slices of pie, two of Mary’s gigantic cheeseburgers, and about a pound of french fries over the course of their evening. He ate whatever Cas gave him. It really was astounding, how much Dean could put away, and lately Cas had noticed the buttons on Dean’s jerseys getting tighter and tighter around his gut. They’d also stopped at Target the day before so Dean could get a new belt, as his usual one wasn’t up to the job anymore.

“Like you don’t love it,” Cas retorted, because he knew Dean did. His boyfriend got this light in his eyes whenever Cas pushed his limits, and Cas had noticed Dean admiring himself in the diner window the other day, running his hand over his belly reverently. Cas wasn’t the only one who was enjoying this, not by a long shot.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said with a smile.

Just three weeks after Cas had started joining the Winchester family for dinner, when Dean went to stretch during practice, arms high above his head and a deep breath held in his lungs, a button popped off his jersey. All the guys laughed, including Dean, and Cas rolled his eyes and offered to go to the supply closet and look for another jersey with Dean. The coach warned them against any funny business and gave Cas the key.

They ended up making out for a few minutes despite what the coach had said. Cas just couldn’t help himself, especially when Dean took off his too-small jersey and let his belly flop over his belt, looking even more delectable shirtless than with the busted shirt.

“Maybe we should look for some new pants, too,” Cas murmured as he played with the fat at Dean’s sides. “Even your muffin top has a muffin top.”

He was right, more or less. Dean’s belly barely squeezed out over his belt and his love handles crushed the waistband. Cas unbuckled his belt and the snap buttons popped open immediately, Dean’s belly dropping and taking up the space it needed, and Dean sighed as he rubbed the red marks where the waistband had been constricting him.

“You’re probably right,” he admitted. 

Eventually the hunt for a new uniform began in earnest, because there weren’t exactly a lot of Dean’s size lying around.

“You probably should have taken this size in the first place. That extra-large jersey never really fit, and I think we might have to peel those pants off of you,” Cas said as he rummaged through bins.

“Probably,” Dean said, “but I couldn’t find any double-XLs in the bin the coach gave us, and at least the buttons came together.”

After several minutes of searching, Cas finally found the correct size at the bottom of a dusty bin. The jersey buttoned over Dean’s belly nicely, hugging it softly, and although Dean would certainly be more comfortable now, Cas was a little disappointed that he’d lose the opportunity to ogle Dean’s snug jersey. When Dean sat down to take off his too-small pants, his belly filled the fabric out a bit better, but Cas still found himself missing the busted shirt.

As if he’d read Cas’ mind, Dean said, “We’ll just have to get this tight too, right?” with a wink, and Cas couldn’t agree more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have one more fic I’ve almost finished and one I just started, but I love new ideas!! Leave me a couple in the comments if you want!


	11. Fair Food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ABO non-hunting AU. Alpha!Cas and omega!Dean go to the Kansas State Fair. Warning for mpreg, which I honestly never thought I’d write, but here we are.

“I am never letting your dick near me again.”

“Please, you couldn’t go a week without it.”

“No, I mean it.” Dean wiped the sweat from his brow, waddled another step forward. “I have a strict no dick policy, starting now. You’d fuckin’ agree with me if you knew what it was like to be pregnant in goddamn June. In goddamn _Kansas_. Never again.”

Castiel placed a hand at the small of his mate’s back, kissed him on the temple. Dean grumbled and swatted at his head. “Whatever you want. Although I think all those extra pounds might be giving you more trouble than any child ever could.”

“Fuck you,” Dean said, although he was smiling a little. He tugged his too-small shirt down and left a hand resting on his belly, on the strip of skin that refused to stay covered no matter how many times he tried. “It’s baby weight.”

As he started rubbing at Dean’s back, Cas snorted. Dean had been fat for years; he’d started using ‘baby weight’ as an excuse a few months ago, and while it was partially true - he’d probably put on eighty, ninety pounds over the course of his pregnancy - Dean was only just beginning his third trimester. Most omegas had only gained around twenty pounds at this point. 

Then again, most omegas didn’t start out their pregnancy at over four hundred pounds.

Dean stopped walking and let out an obnoxious moan, startling Castiel out of his thoughts. “Oh yeah, right there,” he said, leaning back into the touch. A passing woman gave them a disgusted look, but they were used to it by this point. Omegas were supposedly meant to be smaller than their alphas, quiet, unobtrusive, and while the world was getting more accepting every day, some people’s delicate sensibilities got offended when a pregnant, obese omega practically shouted out his ecstasy at having his back rubbed in the middle of the Kansas State Fair. To be fair, Dean was very loud.

“Let’s go get some food,” Cas suggested, gently pushing Dean towards a shaded group of picnic tables. “The baby must be getting hungry.”

“Baby wants funnel cake,” Dean agreed, and while Castiel knew it wasn’t good for him, he couldn’t say no to his beautiful mate. He’d grab something healthier to balance it out.

Once Dean was settled, Cas left to hunt around the many, many food stands for a satisfactory meal. He got three bacon cheeseburgers, a bucket of chili cheese fries, and, of course, a funnel cake. There weren’t exactly a lot a health food options, so he just grabbed a smoothie and a deep-fried ear of corn and called it a day. He’d have to go on a second run anyways, as Dean could pack away a lot more than this.

“I love you,” Dean said when he returned, and although Cas was pretty sure he was talking to the food, he’d take it. He slid in next to Dean, pressed up closer than strictly necessary along his soft side, and stole a fry. The cheesy goodness was worth the look of betrayal Dean shot his way.

“You’re starving our child,” he whined, and his stomach growled. “Do you hear that? I’m wasting away!”

“It was a single french fry.” Castiel held up another fry invitingly, and Dean took it between his teeth as delicately as expected - which is to say not delicately at all, with a lot of unnecessary chomping. He opened his mouth when he was done and glanced at Cas, bounced his eyebrows. And although he rolled his eyes, Cas continued to feed his omega one french fry at a time, each dripping in cheese, chili, and grease.

After several minutes, Dean grumbled something about Cas taking too long and picked up a burger, taking matters into his own hands. Castiel couldn’t help but stare as Dean stuffed his face, the rhythm of hand to mouth never ceasing. The first burger was gone within minutes, and then the funnel cake, and then the ear of corn. Dean’s jaw worked diligently the entire time, and Castiel was transfixed by the way it caused his double chin to shake, the way his belly slowly crept across his lap as he filled it with more and more food.

Dean finished off the rest of his feast and eyed the deep-fried oreo stand. “Round two?” he asked, sounding hopeful. He sucked at his depleted smoothie and turned sad eyes to Cas, one hand resting on his belly. “We’re still hungry, alpha.”

God, but Dean was pushing all of Castiel’s buttons. He couldn’t have said no even if he wanted to.

“Of course. I’ll be right back.” Cas took off like a shot towards the food stands, managing to fill his arms with even more snacks than before. Two pulled pork sandwiches, half a dozen donuts, a caramel apple, a fried chicken basket, three corn dogs, an order of fried pickles, a huge cup of coke, and a full dozen of those fried oreos later, Cas stumbled back to their table. He’d forgotten to get something for himself, but right now that wasn’t as important as feeding his pregnant omega. Dean always came first.

Dean licked his lips and reached towards the cookies before Cas had even sat down. He was at the point in his meal where he needed to lean back in his seat, give his belly some space, so he placed the baskets on his gut and went to town. The oreos were quickly demolished, and Dean only paused only to give Castiel a quick and dirty kiss - payment for his services, he supposed - before he did the same with the chicken.

He could feel more judgmental eyes upon them, but he didn’t care. So what if they thought Dean was a pig? His mate was beautiful and surprisingly healthy, and, to put it one way, Castiel didn’t give a fuck about what everyone else thought. Happiness was coming off of Dean in waves, and that was all that really mattered.

Maybe he growled at one particularly interested passerby, but Dean didn’t notice, so it was fine.

Between his fourth and fifth donut, Dean had to take a quick break. He spread his thighs, allowed his bloated middle to slot between them, and let out an impressive belch along with a wince. “Oh, that was a big kick,” he groaned as he ran a soothing hand down his stomach. “Think the baby wants more.” He gave Cas a lazy grin and shoved the waistband of his elastic maternity pants lower, just let his belly hang out. It bulged obscenely, and although they both took scent blockers, Cas knew a bit of his arousal had to be leaking through. Seeing his mate stuffed and needy, not to mention pregnant with _his_ baby, was almost too much to handle.

True to his word, Dean picked up the next donut and took a big bite. “Ew can tuff,” he said around the mouthful, rolling his eyes when Cas clearly did not understand. He swallowed. “You can touch. I’m not a fuckin’ art show, and I’d pay good money for a belly rub right about now.”

“My apologies,” Cas said, eager to grant Dean’s wish. He placed a tentative hand on the side of Dean’s stomach, willing himself to calm down. “You’re just so big, so stunning, and it’s difficult to look away sometimes.”

Dean grunted, but the light blush on his cheeks gave away his embarrassment. He moved Cas’ hand to the apex of his gut, an open invitation, and Castiel began to rub in earnest, bringing his other hand up to help. Cas had large hands, but they looked tiny against his omega’s hulking middle.

And what a middle it was. With his pants shoved down low and his shirt riding up well above his belly button, Dean’s stomach was on full display, round and proud in his lap, the milky skin riddled with freckles and stretch marks and lines from where his waistband had been. Skin pulled taut across its expanse, and Cas massaged gently, trying to soothe the discomfort brought on by eating enough food for five, let alone two.

The only real regret Castiel had was that Dean was too fat for him to feel their baby; there were far too many layers of blubber for any type of motion to get through. Still, Cas would not have his mate any other way, and he gave the top of Dean’s belly a loving pat before trailing his fingers down to the sensitive underside, the place that always made Dean shiver and moan in delight.

“Right there, babe.” Dean shuddered, made the corresponding moans. His gut was too packed to move much, but the shiver sent ripples through his thick love handles, made his chins wobble. It especially drew attention to Dean’s chest; his breasts had been growing throughout his pregnancy, and as Dean had vehemently rejected wearing a bra, they rested heavily on his upper belly, jiggled with the best of them. Yeah, Dean’d always had moobs - his words, not Cas’ - but this was something else. Castiel had to restrain himself from reaching out to touch.

Dean huffed and puffed, his face tinted red, sweat rolling down his temples both from the Kansas heat and the exertion of eating so much. But he didn’t seem to be slowing down any time soon; Dean still ate like a starving man, a corn dog in each hand, and he only stopped eating long enough to direct Castiel’s hands, or maybe to take a sip of coke. Cas knew they made an odd pair, the fat, bossy omega and the lean, submissive alpha, but he loved nothing more than doting on Dean. If that made him look like a chump to some people, then so be it.

“Lower,” Dean said around a mouthful. “Left. Mm, yeah.” Another sandwich down the hatch, and he sighed, eyes closed. “Pass me the apple?”

Either he was too full or too lazy to lean forward and get it himself. Whatever the reason, Cas eagerly handed Dean his next (and last, damn, already?) treat, and it was gone in seconds, the only evidence of its existence an apple core and the sticky caramel on Dean’s bottom lip. He licked his lips and rested his hands over Cas’, right on top of his massive middle. It sat like a boulder in his lap, heavy and hard, and Castiel would have been worried for the child inside if the doctors hadn’t already reassured them that Dean’s weight shouldn’t cause any difficulties, that a more than healthy appetite was not a problem. Still, it had to be hurting _Dean_ , and Cas made soothing noises as he massaged his overburdened stomach.

“So good, Dean,” Cas said, working nimble fingers into Dean’s many layers of fat. “Just tell me what you need.”

Dean looked at Cas with hooded eyes and a shit-eating grin, his bare belly pressed up against the table. “Baby wants ice cream,” he said decisively, and Castiel couldn’t help but think that he was the luckiest man on Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it’s been a while. After writing this, I realized that I kind of took inspiration from one of mnwood’s fics - she’s awesome, btw - so big shoutout to her! Check out ‘Fat and Happy’ for the fic I’m talking about (I think it’s the last chapter).


	12. Whoever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More fat!Dean/Cas from me? What a surprise!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve gotten requests for more fat!Dean in the past, and there was also an anon from... almost a year ago now (whoops) who gave the prompt which inspired this particular fic:
> 
> “I would love to see a Dean/Cas fic with a really big Dean. 400+ lb, and Cas LOVES it. Especially his huge belly, Cas just can't get enough. Stuffing at a buffet or food court and then home for sexytimes, or maybe they're not together initially, they work at the same office, Cas keeps bringing in food/cake and leaving it in the break room "for whoever" knowing Dean will indulge...”
> 
> Happy Holidays y’all!

“Got something for your fat ass, Winchester,” Victor said as he dropped a plate on the front desk.

“Fuck off,” Dean said, but he grinned as he eagerly unwrapped the paper plate piled high with snickerdoodles. He shoved one in his mouth and sighed happily. Lunch wasn’t for another three hours, and Dean needed this like he needed air.

For the past five weeks or so, some angel at the garage had been leaving plates of goodies in the break room. Dean honestly had no idea who it was; none of his coworkers had owned up yet, and every note attached simply said ‘for whoever,’ never signed. ‘Whoever’ generally ended up being Dean, much to his delight, as everyone had heard the tales of the infamous Winchester appetite and knew better than to stand between Dean and food, even unintentionally. The type of food varied, though it was usually some type of homemade sweet, and although at first it had only happened once or twice a week, a plate of cookies, tin of pie, or box of donuts had been left on the table every day for the past nine days, and Dean wasn’t complaining.

Dean was polishing off the plate when Castiel walked by. He waved with his cookie-less hand, unable to offer a better greeting with his mouth full of delicious sugar, and tried to shove down the embarrassing fuzzy feeling he got when Cas said, “Hello, Dean,” in his ridiculous sex line operator voice with his ridiculous head of sex hair. 

Maybe Dean had a bit of a crush, but he was handling it, okay? Well, mostly handling it. At least he managed to avoid blatantly checking the guy out, only sneaking a quick glance at how well his overalls hugged his ass. Damn, what an ass.

Dean probably could have handled himself better if it was just a physical attraction, but Castiel Novak was also kind, had a hilariously dry sense of humor, was a little on the awkward side, _and_ was smokin’ hot. He was also more than ten years Dean’s junior, had just gotten his Masters in engineering, and was way out of Dean’s league, so Dean was content to admire from afar, even if he felt a bit like a dirty old man. Yeah, it wasn’t like Dean was that old, but he still felt a little weird about it. Especially since there was no way in hell that Castiel reciprocated Dean’s feelings. He wasn’t lacking in self confidence, but Dean knew that most people didn’t exactly flock to obese forty year-olds who’d been working at the same garage for more than two decades, and he wasn’t about to get his hopes up that Cas would be one of the few who did.

The phone rang, startling Dean out of his thoughts, and he brushed his hands off on his overalls and picked it up. Dean mourned the loss of the two dozen cookies as he put on his customer service voice and said, “Singer Auto, this is Dean speaking. How can we help you today?”

He answered the phone a few more times, ordered various car parts on the computer, responded to some emails, and generally putzed around until it was finally time for lunch. Dean would be forever grateful to Bobby for keeping him around all these years, even after he’d gotten too fat to work under a car, but he had been the receptionist slash secretary for the garage for going on eight years now and the job was so repetitive and easy that Dean often found himself counting the minutes until something happened to break the monotony. Lunch, in this case.

Tucking his cell in his pocket, Dean shimmied forward in his chair and groaned as he stood up, belly spilling out of his lap and settling low in his overalls, heavy and round, the sudden lack of support a little jarring. It growled and Dean patted it consolingly, began the short walk to the break room with a hand still resting on his gut.

When he arrived, Dean stopped in the doorway, took a couple slow breaths, and wiped away the beads of sweat forming at his brow. Being fat in August sucked, and the garage didn’t have the best AC. He was always sweaty, and moving didn’t exactly help. “Anyone wanna split some pizzas?”

Victor, Jo, and Bobby were already eating, the lucky bastards, but Cas agreed easily. “Large deep dish sausage, please.”

“You sure about that, buddy?” Jo aked with a raised eyebrow. “That’s a lotta goddamn pizza.”

Cas raised his eyebrow right back and put a hand to his flat stomach. “I am fully aware, not to mention absolutely starving.”

“The man knows what he wants,” Dean said with a laugh, already dialing the local pizza place’s number. Yeah, he knew the number by heart, sue him. You didn’t get to Dean’s size — five hundred and fifty-eight pounds, last time he’d checked — without a lot of pizza.

Dean ordered his usual medium pepperoni, large meat lovers, and coke, though he splurged and went for the two liter size. If Cas was gonna treat himself today, Dean might as well do the same. Well, he kinda treated himself every day, but whatever. He was thirsty.

After giving them Cas’ order as well, Dean hung up and lumbered towards the couch, readying himself for the unbearable wait. His unofficial spot was the battered love seat, the cushions sunken in from years of supporting his hefty weight, and Dean sighed wearily when he sat down, took the strain off his back and knees. He spread his thighs and his gut filled the space. These days, keeping his belly high up in his lap left Dean with cramps and overtaxed lungs, so Dean tended to sprawl across his seat to make himself more comfortable. It wasn’t like anyone had a chance of squeezing on the couch with him anyway, so Dean didn’t feel bad about taking up more space than strictly necessary.

The mechanics and Dean talked for a while, people slowly trickling out of the room as they finished eating, and by the time the pizza delivery person called, only Dean and Cas were left.

“I’ll get it,” Castiel said, already making for the front door. Dean wasn’t about to complain; getting situated was difficult, and if Dean could stay seated, he would.

Dean’s mouth immediately started watering when Cas came back with their substantial lunch. “How much do I owe you?” he asked, eyes locked on the prize.

Cas set Dean’s share on the side table close to the loveseat and shrugged. “It’s okay, my treat.”

“You don’t have to do that, dude,” Dean said as he opened the top box. “I know this wasn’t cheap.”

“Please, I insist.”

Well, Dean wasn’t about to turn down free food. “Thanks, Cas,” Dean managed to get out around a massive bite of pizza. His stomach roared, and Dean licked his lips, and his crush on Castiel grew a little bigger.

Lunch breaks were pretty lax at the garage, so Dean was allowed an hour or so as long as he kept one eye on the front desk; someone else would take calls, and there was a little sign telling people to head straight to the garage that Dean put up when he wasn’t there. Still, despite having ample time, he managed to crush the first pie in ten minutes, the gnawing hunger in his belly not settling for anything else. Once his stomach was sated, Dean took his time, leisurely taking bites of pizza and gulps of coke as he talked to Cas, just savoring the flavors and textures (and company) at this point. Dean asked about Cas’ classes, Cas asked about Dean’s brother, and the conversation flowed smoothly up until Dean finished his second pizza.

Bloated and full, Dean puffed out a breath and leaned back, reached up to loosen the shoulder straps of his overalls and give the fabric more room to accommodate his stomach. Soda puffed him up like nothing else, and the two liter bottle was more than halfway empty, and he’d also scarfed down two pizzas. Dean only had twenty minutes left of his official break, so set his hands atop his thick belly and closed his eyes, planning on using the rest of his break to digest and maybe take a quick power nap.

“Excuse me, Dean?”

Crap, it would be pretty rude if Dean fell asleep in the middle of talking to Cas, no matter how full and sleepy he was. Dean opened his eyes and sat up a little straighter, grunted from the effort of doing so with a stuffed stomach. “Shit, sorry.”

“Oh, I don’t mind if you take a nap,” Cas said. “I was wondering if you wanted the rest of my pizza. It seems that my eyes were bigger than my stomach.”

Looking at what was left of Castiel’s pizza, Dean couldn’t help but agree. Only two of eight slices were gone. “What happened to being starving?” Dean joked, internally debating the pros and cons of more food. Yeah, he’d probably regret it once it came time to move, and one could argue that the last thing he needed was more fat and carbs, but Dean could never say no to free food.

Cas handed over the pizza without prompting. “This is ridiculously filling,” he said. “I feel like I’ve eaten four slices instead of two. Maybe you can help me out, it’ll take me forever to get through the leftovers. I don’t think I have any room left in my fridge.”

“You came to the right guy,” Dean said, slice already in hand. “Can’t promise you’ll have any leftovers once I’m done.” He was mostly kidding; his gut was already pretty full, and Dean bet he’d hit his limits after three more slices, but maybe he’d surprise himself.

Cas and Dean both grew quiet after that, Dean’s mouth too full for conversation, Castiel focused on a form he was filling out for a customer. Dean ate slowly and took tiny sips of coke between bites, and fifteen minutes later he was in the middle of his fourth piece when he gave up. His temples hurt from chewing, his ass was sore because of the old couch, and his belly staunchly refused to accept any more food.

“That was a mistake,” Dean groaned as he set the slice back in the box. A deep belch escaped his mouth and he flushed, embarrassed. “God, excuse me. My break’s up, I gotta go back to the front desk.”

Dean tried to shimmy off the couch without success, his distended stomach impeding his progress and weighing him down, making it difficult to breathe, let alone move. He stopped trying after a few seconds and wheezed, ashamed that Castiel was seeing him like this, stuffed past the point of being able to get off the couch. Yeah, Cas knew he was fat — it wasn’t exactly a secret — but Dean was making a fool of himself.

“Do you need assistance?” Cas asked, and Dean’s face burned even hotter.

“I got it,” he said, determined. He braced his hands on the arms of the loveseat and pushed, his abused stomach protesting the movement, and he could practically hear his knees creaking with the strain. Dean fell back onto the cushions one, two, three times before he finally managed to haul himself to his feet, and he gave his stomach the chance to settle for a handful of seconds before he made a beeline for the door.

His breath came in harsh pants and he could practically feel Cas’ eyes glued to him, and he subconsciously tried to regulate his breathing. Stupid crush. It was almost soothing to Dean that it was one-sided, made it a little less unbearable when another stupendous belch escaped his mouth without permission. God, _not_ sexy, Winchester. Dean stopped just before the door, one thick-fingered hand already reaching to open it, and he swallowed audibly before he forced out, “Thanks for lunch, buddy.”

“It was my pleasure. I hope you enjoyed my cookies as well.”

“Yeah, they were-” Head spinning, Dean turned around and faced Castiel, and their eyes locked. “Wait. _You’ve_ been leaving all that shit?”

Cas nodded. “I stress bake,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“You, um, you must be really stressed,” Dean joked weakly.

“Not really,” Cas said, getting out of his chair. He didn’t break eye contact. “After the first time, when I saw how much you enjoyed my baking, I thought I’d continue. It was obvious that baked goods brought you great joy.”

Dean gulped. Castiel was standing really close now, almost close enough to bump into his belly. There was no way that he... well. “Heh, uh, thanks. You didn’t have to. I’ve been told I should probably lay off the sweets anyways.” He punctuated the statement with a pat to his gut, accidentally brushing against Castiel’s arm with his fingers, and he could feel himself blush.

Cas’ eyes flickered down to where Dean’s hand rested. He reached out his own hand, ever so slowly, like he was asking permission to touch. “I disagree.” 

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. Dean’s brain stopped carrying out all higher functions and all he could do was stare. Could a cute, smart, nice guy actually like him back? God, Dean felt like a teenager, his palms sweaty and doubts racing through his mind. But he was an adult, dammit, and before he could chicken out, Dean grabbed Cas’ hand and jerked it forward a little too zealously. It jabbed into his stomach and Dean made an embarrassing noise. 

Castiel hummed, squeezed Dean’s belly. “I’ve been wanting to do this for months, ever since I first saw you. And it seems that my cookies and pies have only made your middle softer.”

“Uh huh.” He was usually way smoother than this, but he couldn’t help it - he felt like he was floating. A few moments passed, and Dean finally asked, “So you don’t mind that I’m a little thick in the waist? Or older than you?”

“Of course not,” Cas said with a snort. He started to rub his hand in little circles, and Dean sighed. “Honestly, my main reservation was the fact that you’re out of my league, but-“

“You think you’re out of _my_ league? Dude, other way around. I’ve had a middle school crush on you since you walked through the door.”

Oversharing, Dean.

“Hm,” Castiel had a cute little grin on his face, and Dean wanted nothing more than to kiss it off. “Good thing one of us actually acted upon his feelings, then.”

“Shut up,” Dean mumbled, and hell, why not — he went in for that kiss.


	13. The Dieting Game (1/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘It’s a Terrible Life’ verse. Chubby!Dean, eventual Smith/Wesson, two parts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost a year ago now I promised starthief that I had a Smith/Wesson fic in the works - this is that fic. I tried to make Dean and Sam a combination of their real selves and Sandover!selves. It’s been in my drafts for a while, and it’s been through some serious revisions, and it may have gotten a bit out of hand length-wise, but here we are!

Nothing really changed after the whole ghost incident. Screw killing ghosts, Dean was good at the job he had, and there had to be _someone_ out there who took care of that type of stuff — no need for him to pick up the torch. Sam heartily agreed, so only two things came out of their supernatural escapades: a new friendship and the loss of Dean’s diet. What could he say? Staring death in the face had a way of making you question your priorities, and Dean Smith, now very much aware of his mortality, decided that he didn’t want to spend his life chugging liquified kale.

A reasonable way to live, said Dean’s brain, but his waistline said otherwise. Ever since middle school, Dean’s body’d had a predilection towards storing fat. It was one of the reasons he’d started his crazy diets in the first place, as he’d found out years ago that dieting was the easiest way to keep off the pounds, and he hated cardio with a passion. Apparently just six weeks of diet-less life was enough for his body to kick back into its default state.

“It’s because you’ve totally fucked with your metabolism, man,” Sam told him during their weekly drink meetup. “Those horrible ‘cleanses’ you used to go on weren’t good for you. Like, at all.”

“Probably,” Dean said, swirling his beer around its bottle dejectedly. “It just annoys the hell out of me. After years of dieting, all I get for my troubles is a soft stomach and a double chin.”

“You don’t have a double chin,” Sam protested, but Dean knew the truth. His belly and face took the brunt of his weight gain, always had. Dean’d had a slightly pudgy chin even when he’d been in the best shape of his life, and the pounds he’d added onto his frame in the past month and a half weren’t exactly helping. No amount of cleansing had ever gotten rid of the thin layer of padding around his middle either, and he was getting softer by the day.

Dean sighed. “Maybe I should go back on a diet.”

“No way,” Sam said immediately. Dean raised an eyebrow, and Sam averted his eyes. “I mean, uh, I think you actually look better. Than you did a month ago, y’know.”

“Really?” Dean asked, incredulous.

“Totally. You always used to look so tired and pale. I’m pretty sure those disgusting smoothie things were killing you, dude. You look way better now, even if it comes with a few less, um, sharp edges.”

Dean snorted. Yeah, sure. He ate another chicken wing (had Sam touched the plate at all?) and sighed, because at least he could eat wings again.

He hadn’t allowed himself to eat what he wanted since he was twenty, and now that the floodgates were open, it was pretty hard to force them shut again. Dean had rediscovered a love of pie and burgers, a love of being full, a love of feeling warm and lazy and content after a big meal. What he had not discovered was a love of the resultant weight added to his body.

Thankfully, Dean’s abundance of striped and patterned shirts helped hide the full extent of his weight gain from the general public, though the same could not be said about his pants. During the next week he started having to button his slacks beneath his rounded tummy, let it push over his waistband, and he hated the way it made his stomach bulge out, how it made him look bigger than he really was. Dean started to self-consciously tug at his shirts when he sat, tried to avoid looking down and showing off his double chin. He sucked his stomach in during presentations, slouched when sitting to hide his protruding middle, and was generally miserable by the time his get together with Sam rolled around.

“I’m a total fatass,” Dean complained as he shoved a cheese-laden chip in his mouth. “I’m pretty sure I heard people gossiping about me in the break room, and I need new pants, cause I’m so fucking fat, and-“

“Dean,” Sam said, cutting him off, “you’re really not fat. Your body’s just adjusting to eating like a normal person again, it’ll figure itself out eventually.”

“I guess,” Dean said, resigned, as he gnawed unhappily on a fry. “But you’re coming with me to buy new pants tomorrow.”

“Whatever, Smith.”

Dean left the bar uncomfortably full, holding his jacket in front of his middle to hide how his bloated stomach stuck out in front of him and tugged at his shirt buttons. He groaned as he sunk into the driver’s seat, palmed at his belly, and winced. God, there was a lot of food in there, but he hadn’t been able to help himself lately, just couldn’t stop eating until he was stuffed. He really should have had more control after years of dieting, but his flabby stomach said otherwise.

Hands still on his middle, Dean belched loudly and leaned back in his seat. He eventually bit the bullet and unbuttoned his pants, let his stomach expand, and sighed at the instant relief it granted him. Finally feeling comfortable enough to drive, Dean turned the key and made his way home slowly, wincing whenever a bump in the road jostled his gurgling belly.

The next day, he got two sizes up in his usual brand of slacks — thirty-eights instead of his usual thirty-fours, just to be sure they’d fit, not because the thirty-sixes had been a little snug around his middle, definitely not. Dean felt a lot better once he could pull the waistband of his pants over his pudge again. And if they also hid the love handles he’d noticed growing at his sides, well, that was his business.

Another week passed, and then another. Hiding his belly was one thing, but by the time Dean was two months into his new diet-less life, he found that his little double chin didn’t just appear when he looked down anymore. Dean stopped shaving in the hopes that a beard would cover the way his chin had settled into a pocket of fat. In the meantime, he scrambled from the elevator to his office as quickly as possible in the mornings, ate lunch by himself, and thanked who or whatever was watching out for him that he didn’t have a meeting until the next Friday.

But Saturday morning, Dean was cursing himself. He had an ice skating date with an old flame from college, Cole, who’d texted him out of the blue a few days ago. He’d only bought new slacks with Sam, no jeans, and as much as Dean enjoyed his suits, he knew that no one wore dress pants to an outdoor ice skating rink. His best pair of jeans still buttoned underneath his belly, but only just, and they were uncomfortably tight. They made him look huge. It was also getting increasingly difficult to button his shirts, and all the straining buttons made him feel sloppy.

Dean did everything he could to disguise his body; Cole had always been ridiculously fit and Dean didn’t want to look like he’d blubbered out. He wore his puffiest jacket, ugly though it was, to camouflage his soft torso and tight shirt. A scarf was pulled up high to cover his double chin. Even though he left the house feeling like a sausage shoved into too-small casing, Dean was pretty sure that Cole wouldn’t be able to tell he’d gained weight. The two problem areas were hidden. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up this charade forever, but hopefully his metabolism would figure itself out before the problem got too big for him to handle. Or something.

He ignored the little voice in his head that said his metabolism wasn’t the problem.

The date started out well enough, but Dean was on edge the whole time. He kept tugging his scarf up, anxious that it would slip and expose his double chin, and he could feel his face burning from the effort of holding his belly back. Maybe he didn’t really need to, especially with his gigantic jacket, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

Because a nervous Dean equaled a hungry Dean, he chugged two large hot chocolates and plowed through four hot dogs when they took a break for lunch. He begged off ice skating for several minutes afterwards, his stomach gurgling unhappily, and he and Cole made somewhat stilted conversation. They hadn’t seen each other in a while, but the little spark they’d once had was almost completely gone, and it was damn awkward. It made Dean uncomfortable as hell. His tight coat wasn’t exactly helping matters, he could feel his jeans button digging into the underside of his belly, and he was moderately certain that he’d lost a shirt button somewhere along the way.

They ended up cutting the date a bit short because Dean was too full to continue skating. He didn’t tell Cole that was the reason, of course, pretended he’d forgotten about an important meeting that he needed to get to ASAP. On a Saturday afternoon. Right. They both promised to text, but Dean had the niggling feeling that neither of them would.

He took off the jacket in the car, and yeah, there was the button. It clattered to the floor and Dean could feel it staring at him as he felt for the hole along his front. He sighed, unbuttoned his jeans, and another popped off.

The first thing Dean did when he got home was strip off his pants. He had to practically peel himself out of them, wincing as he rubbed at the angry red marks left under his belly and around his hips. He changed into his ‘me day’ attire to cheer himself up — his set of silk pajamas that he was was not ashamed to own in the least — and flushed when he had to leave the bottoms untied to fit around his chubby middle. And when said middle made teeny gaps between his shirt buttons. Ugh, these were supposed to be his sexy clothes.

Dean flopped down on the couch with a huff. He didn’t feel particularly sexy right now — he’d embarrassed himself in front of a sort-of-friend, was too fat for his jeans and shirt, barely fit into his pajamas, and he’d heard more and more of his coworkers gossiping about him. At least it wouldn’t be too difficult to avoid Cole for the foreseeable future. He thought about calling Sam to bitch about it.

But now wasn’t time for complaining or self-reflection, now was time to face the facts, so Dean levered himself off of the couch and trudged towards the bathroom. Towards the scale. Dean needed to man up and see the damage before he figured out how to fix it. He turned it on with his toe and stared straight ahead as he stepped on, steeling himself. The last cleanse had left him at about one eighty five, and he’d probably gained fifteen or so pounds since then, but it couldn’t be too bad, not yet at least.

The scale beeped, Dean looked down, and his jaw dropped. A little red _220.3_ glared up at him, and Dean had _never_ weighed over two ten, not even during his chubby phase in his freshman year of college.

Two twenty really wasn’t that bad, Dean knew that, but he’d gained thirty-five pounds in just over two goddamn months. Which _was_ bad. Very bad. It was over twice what he’d estimated. God, Dean needed to do something about this before he ended up a five hundred pound fatass. But he couldn’t go back on a diet, not after such a wonderful taste of freedom... though he could probably stand to get a gym membership. And maybe he could start eating a normal amount of food. In the meantime, however, he needed a temporary fix to the problem, because Dean couldn’t exactly wear his puffy jacket everywhere.

That was how Dean Smith ended up ordering shape wear. He ordered something called a ‘belly buster belt’ and a few high compression tanks to tide him over, got express shipping, and almost managed to convince himself it was nothing to be ashamed of. 

Almost.

Later that day, he stared moodily at the light beer he’d ordered while Sam talked about some tech department drama at work, something involving a guy named Andy. Dean had limited himself to his fair share of the cheese fries tonight, but his stomach was growling, used to a much bigger meal by this point, and he was determined to ignore it. He only noticed Sam calling his name after a bottle cap was thrown at his forehead.

“What?” Dean snapped.

“I asked if you’re feeling okay,” Sam said with a raised eyebrow, looking pointedly down at their food. “You’re a pretty shitty conversationalist tonight, not to mention the fact that you’ve only eaten like a third of what you usually eat. And you always love hearing about the IT gossip. What gives, dude?”

Dean sighed. He was being a crappy friend, and he knew it. “Date with Cole was shitty,” he said. “Nothing really there anymore.” It wasn’t a lie, per se, but Dean wasn’t about to tell Sam that he was grumpy because he was up thirty-five pounds, barely fit into his silk PJs, and had resorted to buying men’s shape wear.

“Oh. That’s a shame,” Sam said, and was Dean mistaken or did he sound a little jealous?

No. No way. He was hallucinating, had to be.

“Yeah,” he replied, forcing all thoughts of ice skating with Sam and how much better that date might’ve gone out of his head. 

Dean’s shape wear arrived the next day, and he was a little embarrassed to find that he needed a tank and the belt to hide the majority of his thick belly. Still, he looked a lot skinnier, and his suspenders actually did their job for once because his pants were now a bit loose. His shirts also fit better, the buttons no longer straining to stay closed. It was harder to breathe, and Dean found that sitting down put quite a lot of pressure on his lower stomach, but it was worth it, because Dean Smith was starting to look like his old self again.

Maybe he put off the gym membership until next week, but hey, he had to ease himself into this.

When Dean went into work on Monday, he was pleased to note that gossip about him was back down to its normal levels. Between his beard, which was finally growing in, and his compression belt and tank, it looked like Dean had slimmed down.

“How’d you manage to lose weight so fast?” Becky, one of the less socially-conscious interns, asked him. “I swear, you must’ve dropped thirty pounds overnight.”

“It was a little more gradual than that,” Dean protested weakly. He barricaded himself back in his office for the rest of the day, worried that people would start to suspect that his body shape was less than natural, even though he knew that it was probably only Becky. Girl was a freakin’ stalker. He got another intern to bring him a BLT and fries for lunch, devoured the food in minutes, and spent the rest of the workday feeling hungry even though he knew that he’d had a fairly reasonable lunch.

When Dean got home, he stripped off the shape wear and lounged in his underwear in front of his TV, ordered a large pizza and bread sticks, and proceeded to eat everything while watching some shitty rom-com he’d stumbled across. He didn’t even notice how much he’d eaten until it was gone, but oh god, an alien had to be inside of him, because Dean felt like he was gonna burst. Dean moaned. This was _not_ what he should be doing, especially since he was trying to lose weight.

But Dean knew he’d be able to hide it tomorrow, and that gym membership he was gonna get would certainly cut off some pounds, so maybe it was fine if Dean pigged out every once in a while. That was a normal thing to do, right?

Every once in a while ended up being basically every meal, and by the time his Friday meeting rolled around, Dean’s shape wear was tighter than he remembered it being. It was probably just because of his big lunch, he reasoned — two huge chicken salad sandwiches and a coke and a bag of potato chips and a cookie the size of his head, not to mention the two free cupcakes from a birthday on the fifth floor — but whatever the reason, sitting was almost unbearable, and Dean was glad he had to give the presentation. Gave him an excuse to stand. He loosened the belly belt a notch when he got home.

Sam had to cancel their plans that week, and Dean spent his Saturday night watching Indiana Jones movies and eating ice cream and absolutely not moping.

He conveniently forgot about his gym membership that weekend, and the the next weekend he was at a conference in New York. While there, he continued to eat what he wanted and wished that he still could’ve gotten drinks with Sam even though they were hundreds of miles apart. He also wished that his shape wear wasn’t so damn tight, because it was leaving deep red marks in his skin and getting harder and harder to take off at the end of the day and there was only one more setting until it couldn’t loosen anymore. 

Friday night, Dean sat alone in his hotel room, shirtless and munching on the famous Junior’s cheesecake he’d treated himself to. Whenever Dean took off his shape wear lately he’d just take off the shirt he was wearing as well, as he couldn’t get the buttons done up without the extra layers of constricting fabric to hold his belly back. It was fine, Dean was gonna go to the gym soon. He’d lose the weight. But for now he wanted to enjoy his cheesecake in peace, so he shoved aside the anxiety building in his chest and served himself another slice to take his mind off the whole matter.

Soon enough, Dean was in the middle of his third slice. He’d meant the cake to last him awhile, but at this rate it wouldn’t last the weekend. He reached down and popped the button on his slacks, the pants constricting even when pulled low — they didn’t button around his stomach anymore, at least not without the shape wear, but so what — and sighed when his belly settled into the space.

Three pieces turned into six, the rich, creamy cake more than halfway gone already, and Dean was beyond uncomfortable. His stomach gurgled in protest, the onslaught of heavy food too much for it to handle. Dean groaned and puffed out his cheeks, dropped a tentative hand to his distended middle. He’d gone into ‘automatic feeding mode,’ as Sam said, without realizing it and was paying the price. His stomach was round and bloated, full to bursting, and kept making unhappy noises as it tried valiantly to digest way more cheesecake than one man should ever consume.

Dean worked at his belly with his hand, hoping it would speed up the process. As a general rule, Dean tried to keep himself from touching this part of his body unnecessarily, but _god_ did this feel good. He whimpered and brought his other hand down to help, leaned back a little to give himself more room to work. Dean felt like a fat slob, sitting there with his gut in his hands, but the pressure was so good that he couldn’t bring himself to stop. It felt borderline orgasmic, and because Dean’s right hand apparently had a mind of its own, it wandered down a little lower and snuck into his tight boxer briefs without permission. And soon the experience was _actually_ orgasmic, and Dean laid there, staring at the ceiling, one sticky hand still down his pants, the other resting on his belly.

“What the fuck, Smith,” he muttered to himself, and his stomach responded with a loud noise. He needed to fix this before it got even more out of control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you’re wondering, I chose Cole Trenton as the old ‘college flame’ mostly cause I needed a character that I didn’t mind using as a plot device. I didn’t tag the character or pairing because it’s not really important. Thought about making someone up, but his actor isn’t known for being the nicest guy anyways, so I’m not super torn up about it lol


	14. The Dieting Game (2/2)

The rest of the conference passed, Dean determined to forget the cheesecake incident. He managed to limit himself to reasonable portions for all of Saturday and Sunday. He threw away the rest of the cake. He pulled up the online registration for his local gym, gave them his personal and credit card information, and got a confirmation email saying his membership card would arrive within the week. He did sit-ups on his hotel bed until he wanted to puke and refused the snacks offered to him on the plane ride back to Illinois.

He bit the bullet and started doing up the belt on its last set of hooks.

Dean told himself that this was what he wanted, that he wanted to start working out, that he wanted to toss aside this podgy frame he’d made for himself and get back to Lean Mean Dean. But he felt tired and hungry the entire work week and counted down the days until his gym card was supposed to arrive, dreading the day it did. Because then he’d have to actually go, and Dean hadn’t been to the gym in years; he’d kept in shape by dieting and occasionally working out at home, but Dean was bad about setting a work out schedule for himself and he didn’t think he could go back to salads now that he’d had a taste of freedom.

So Dean bought some energy bars and gatorade at Harris Teeter, dug out his old sneakers from the back of his closet, and stayed in bed two hours later than he normally did on Saturday morning because this was supposed to be his first gym day, the first day that he was really going to get himself back on track, and Dean was not looking forward to it.

He finally dragged himself out of bed a little before ten thirty and marched out into the kitchen with his pajama bottoms slung under his middle and the matching shirt unbuttoned. Dean scarfed down two energy bars, ignored his growling stomach, and went through the rest of his morning routine (minus the shower, he’d have to do that after he worked out anyway) with a heavy lump of anxiety sitting in his chest. Just before eleven, he stood with his hands on his hips in front of his closet, trying to remember where his gym shorts were. Assuming he hadn’t thrown them out. God, when was the last time he’d worn gym shorts?

Spotting a pair hidden in his many slacks, Dean dug around and snagged the jersey-like material. He checked the tag apprehensively and discovered that they were a size medium, grit his teeth, and pulled them on anyway, figuring that the elastic would help. And it kind of did, but he still had to situate the waistband under his stomach. His love handles swelled over the sides, previously slim thighs now pulled the fabric tight, and his gut stuck out in a stretch-marked mound and refused to submit to the waistband. The shorts even felt tight across the ass, so Dean had to be putting on weight there, too, which was rare for him. Hopefully the shirt would cover most of it.

Dean’s hopes were crushed when the tank top he picked out barely covered his belly button. He wasn’t about to put on shape wear to go to the gym — he’d probably pass out if he tried to exercise in that belt — and his shirt certainly wasn’t doing him any favors. It showcased the fleshy spare tire at his waist and creased under his chest, which he hadn’t even noticed getting bigger, but the extra flesh there turned his already perky nipples into headlights, something that was usually hidden by his many patterned shirts and handy dandy compression tank. He grabbed the part of his belly that peeked out from under his shirt and winced. Why hadn’t he thought of this before?

No way was he going to the gym looking like this. What if he saw someone he knew, someone from work? There was no hiding his weight gain in these clothes, and then the whole office would start gossiping again, and Dean’s image would take a blow. And since he was hoping for another promotion soon, that was not something that could happen.

He sat down heavily on his bed and ripped the tank top off, tried not to notice how his stomach pooched out more in his lap than it had a little while ago, how it folded into two thick rolls when he slouched over like this. He’d gained more weight. Dean looked into the mirror and once again saw that his pecs were softening up, threatening to rest on his gut, and that his arms had lost their definition under a thin layer of pudge. Dean was heavier than he’d ever been and growing larger by the day, and it was getting harder and harder to hide his body. But how was he supposed to lose the weight if he couldn’t go to the gym? He needed a way to force himself to work out, and he’d failed at doing so at home.

Dean sat there wallowing in self pity for a few minutes longer, rolling the red gatorade he’d bought between his hands until it no longer felt cold. Then he twisted the cap off and chugged it just to have something to do besides think, and he noted that yeah, red was still the best, but the drink reminded him that he was hungrier than he’d been in a while. Including the past week, during which he’d been starving himself. Okay, he’d supposedly been _limiting_ himself, but Dean was feeling down and he really wanted Chinese take out, so fuck it, he was gonna treat himself.

And treat himself he did. He threw on a robe when the delivery guy came and settled at the dinner table with his prize: szechuan chicken, pork lo mein, beef with broccoli, fried rice, four egg rolls, and... three fortune cookies. Apparently the chefs at this restaurant thought three people were about to eat this food. Dean felt his face heat and shoved a giant bite of egg roll in his mouth and god, it was so good. 

Two egg rolls, all the lo mein, most of the beef, and half the fried rice were already down the hatch when Dean started to really feel full. He managed to eat half of the chicken and another egg roll despite the fact, but then he had to stop and tug his shorts off because they’d grown too tight even under his stomach, and then he took some more time to give himself a quick rub-down. This was utter bliss. Dean loved feeling full like this, loved how his whole body felt warm and heavy, and the food was delicious, practically begging him to eat more of it.

Dean gave in and finished the rice and beef. It was hard to breathe, the sheer amount of food crammed into his belly diminishing his lung capacity, and Dean was balancing on the thin line between pleasure and pain, everything in him warning against more food. But he couldn’t stop now, he was almost done, so Dean scarfed down the rest of the chicken and the last egg roll and all three fortune cookies and leaned back in his chair, firmly on the pain side of the line. Oh, he shouldn’t have done that. His insides gurgled and Dean couldn’t even give himself a belly rub at this point, as any pressure on his middle registered as painful. A loud belch escaped his mouth and Dean couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed. He could see and feel how bloated his stomach was, angry red stretch marks striping up and down the abused, taut skin. It was packed hard with food and felt heavy, and yeah, Dean tended to overeat, but this was ridiculous. And it _hurt_.

“Fuck,” he wheezed. For crying out loud, he was supposed to be at the gym right now. Instead he was sitting in his house in his underwear and robe, belly distended to the point of looking pregnant, unable to move due to how obscenely full he was. At least he didn’t have anything to do today now that his gym plans had been cancelled. Except get drinks with Sam, but that was hours away. He could afford to be a pig, didn’t have to see anyone until then. 

Wait. Shit. He was meeting Sam at the local coffeehouse at one, ‘cause Sam’s parents were in town and they couldn’t meet that night. And dammit, he really wanted to catch up with his friend — they hadn’t hung out in more than two weeks at this point, as Sandover was a big company and it was difficult to overlap if you weren’t in the same department — but it was already a bit past noon and Dean was in no shape to leave the house. Still, he missed Sam a lot. He could do this. Dean shifted his weight in preparation to get up, but oh, that was so not happening right now.

He could probably afford to rest for a few minutes more. Dean blew out a long breath and tucked his fingers into the waistband of his underwear, tried to avoid touching his sensitive middle. He still had to shower and get dressed, and he only had thirty minutes or so to do it in.

Once Dean finally managed to lever himself upright, he hobbled to the bathroom with one hand on the wall, one hovering protectively over his bloated stomach. The takeout sat in his gut like a brick and Dean felt sweat forming at his temples, and it looked like he was getting his workout after all. Being this full of greasy food was more taxing than a trip to the gym could ever be.

He showered quickly, avoided touching his stomach, and was back to standing in front of his closet in no time, his belly lapping over the towel at his hips. Dean blushed when he realized he was having trouble picking an outfit and he snagged some black slacks and a more casual plaid shirt, leaned down to procure new socks and underwear, careful to avoid bending at the middle.

Dean slid into his boxer briefs and went through the now familiar process of tugging them past his thighs and snapping the waistband into place far below his actual waist. They still pinched, too small for his current physique, but Dean refused to buy new underwear (or shirts, or suit jackets, or pajamas, or jeans) because that would mean admitting defeat. He’d only bought new slacks because the situation had been dire, though he probably needed to do so again sooner rather than later.

As it was, Dean really, really needed to go up size or two, but he was perfectly happy with deflecting and fixing his problems with shape wear until the problem was resolved. The belt was gonna be a bitch and a half to get on in this state, and Dean almost texted Sam to cancel, eyeing the contraption anxiously. He’d grown out of it astoundingly fast. His stomach gurgled as if voicing its own concerns.

“Screw it,” Dean said, and he grabbed it and threw it around his waist. Dean usually did up the topmost and bottommost hooks first to make the others a little easier, but today even they refused to meet on the loosest setting, and when Dean tried to suck in, he felt as if he was about to rupture something important. He was way too full to be doing this.

However, after a bit of time spent swearing and struggling, Dean managed to get the hooks together. All the in-between hooks didn’t stand a chance in hell of meeting, but this was better than nothing, he supposed. His belly still had an obvious curve to it, but it was definitely compressed, and it wasn’t like these things were made with a gut this size in mind — he hadn’t been expecting a miracle. Anyways, Sam hadn’t seen him wearing this stuff, and it probably would freak him out if Dean suddenly showed up all fake skinny.

As it was, Dean managed to show up barely two minutes late. He spotted Sam at a window seat and took slow steps, still very full and very much in pain, letting out little quiet burps every few feet. He’d figured out in the car that it made him feel marginally better, and at this point Dean was willing to do anything (bar taking off his shape wear) to get some relief.

Sam’s face lit up when he noticed him and Dean managed to force a smile. Most of him was happy to see his friend again; it was just that his stomach wasn’t, and it was being very vocal.

“Hey! How was New York?”

“Boring,” Dean said as he slid into a chair, masterfully hiding a wince. He forced memories of the cheesecake incident down. “Your parents here yet?”

“Nah, not for a couple more hours. Oh, I got you a vanilla latte already, the line is killer. Hope you don’t mind.” Sam was fidgeting a little, kind of pink-cheeked, but Dean was too busy worrying about his buttons and internal organs to give it much thought.

He eyed the gigantic cup on the table and prayed to whoever was listening that it was Sam’s, that the teeny little drink next to it was his. “Of course, man. Thanks.”

Shit, he thought as Sam slid the huge cup across the table. He felt a little queasy just looking at the thing. Dean loved a good latte, and he was kind of touched that Sam knew his drink order, but right now he’d rather chew glass than put anything else into his stomach.

Still, he lifted the cup to his lips and took a small sip. Didn’t want to be rude. “So how’ve you been?”

Dean spent the next fifteen minutes feeling like a total ass. He couldn’t hold a conversation for shit, his stomach on the forefront of his mind, and while he knew it was obvious that he was distracted, he couldn’t stop. Sam was hiding it well, but Dean could tell his friend was disappointed. Weeks of not seeing each other and he could barely say more than three words at a time? Seriously, Smith?

“Are you hot? Feel like I’m in a damn sauna,” Dean finally managed to get out, his longest contribution so far. He kept dabbing at his face with a napkin, sweat almost dripping down his face.

“Uh, no,” Sam said, looking worried. “I’m actually cold if anything.”

“Oh.” Probably was nerves, then. Or the fact that his shape wear may have been tight enough to rupture something. Or maybe it was just because he was fat now. Fat people got overheated easily, right? He didn’t even know how much he weighed anymore, but maybe it was enough to sweat like a pig in the middle of winter.

Wait, fuck, maybe it was because he’d downed his entire drink without meaning to. Self consciousness had activated automatic feeding mode, it seemed, and now that Dean took a minute to stop and think, he needed this fucking belt off ASAP. It was even more unbearable than before if that was possible.

“I gotta-“ Dean heaved himself out of his chair and made a break for the single stall bathroom, his one track mind managing to miss Sam’s look of alarm. As soon as the door closed he tore at his shirt buttons, desperate, glad that he’d forgone the tank for once. Off, off, off-

Shirt undone, Dean reached behind himself and tugged at the fiddly little hooks, pulling and sucking in until finally, _finally_ , the horrible thing fell at his feet. Dean almost cried out in relief when his gut surged forward, fell into place over his pants. He rubbed it gently, afraid that a lot of pressure would hurt, and unzipped and unbuttoned his pants as well.

_Jesus_ , Dean thought as he ran his fingers along the angry-looking marks creased into his stomach. He tried to take a deep breath, but anything beyond breathy little pants was painful, required too much of his stomach. Frustrated, Dean sat down on the toilet lid with his big, bloated belly between his thighs.

How the hell was he supposed to get out of this one? There was no way he could stuff himself back into that belt, but his shirt wouldn’t button without it. Dean ran his fingers through his hair, cupped his gut with the other hand, and racked his brain for any ideas. If he could somehow get his pants buttoned around his middle then maybe he could get the shirt done up?

“Hey, Dean? You okay?” Sam asked from the other side of the door.

Oh, crap. He’d almost forgotten about Sam.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean called back, subconsciously sucking in his stomach. 

“Are you sure?” And then the door started to open, and _fucking hell_ had Dean forgotten to lock it? He wanted to yell at Sam to stay out, but he couldn’t seem to form the words, his tongue suddenly too big for his mouth. “Because you didn’t look okay back there, and from the way you ran into the bathroom, I-“

Sam’s head poked into the bathroom and he stopped talking, his mouth still slightly open as they stared at each other. The only sounds that remained were the muffled voices of the other patrons and the _thump, thump_ of Dean’s own heartbeat in his ears.

Dean could feel his face turning red and he sat up a little straighter, but no, that just made his annoyingly perky moobs poke out like they had something to prove, and it also exposed more of his belly. His round, fat, stretch marked belly that sat in his lap like it belonged there. He tore his eyes away from Sam’s, ashamed. Hopefully the floor would just open up and suck him in. Put him out of his misery.

After what seemed like an hour, Sam slipped through the cracked door and closed it, locking it behind him. He was still staring at Dean, but the look on his face had changed from stunned to concerned. “Oh my god, are you okay? That looks super painful.”

“Huh?” Dean said aloud, and Sam was standing right next to him when he looked up. He instinctively hunched over again, tried to hide his protruding stomach, but the sudden movement made him groan.

“Stop, please. You’re hurting yourself,” Sam said, and Dean finally met his gaze once more. There was no judgement there, only sympathy and a little bit of something else. Dean slowly sat back up.

Sam gave him a once-over and Dean really, really wished that he could cease to exist. He’d been doing such a good job of hiding his weight gain from people, of hiding his belly, and one little slip up was apparently all it took for one of his best friends to get an eyeful.

A few moments passed before Sam noticed the discarded belt. He picked up up, looked at Dean, and asked, “Were you _wearing_ this?”

Dean nodded and Sam sighed. He sounded more sad than disgusted or disappointed, surprisingly enough, but that didn’t keep Dean from feeling embarrassed.

“Ouch,” Sam said, and he reached towards Dean’s stomach, making him jump.

“Dude!” Dean hissed.

“Sorry, sorry!” Sam said, hands raised. “I wasn’t gonna touch. It just... wow. How long have you been wearing this shit?”

“Few weeks or so,” Dean admitted. In for a penny, in for a pound, or whatever.

Sam furrowed his brow. “But why? It’s clearly not comfortable.”

Dean was tired, hurting, embarrassed, and angry, so he couldn’t stop himself from snapping, “It’s because I’m fucking fat, okay? I can’t stop eating — I don’t _want_ to stop, christ — but my body doesn’t care, it just keeps packing on the pounds, and it’s not professional. I look like a slob, my clothes don’t fit, and I can’t even make it through a date. And I hate the gym, so sue me if I wanted an easy out. It’s easy to not understand when you’re... well, you.”

“That’s not true, Dean,” Sam said quietly, visibly stricken by Dean’s outburst.

“What part?” Dean asked with a snort. He kept up the anger front, but he was mostly just tired now.

“First of all, you’re not unprofessional, not by any means. You’re the most hardworking person I know, and a few pounds aren’t about to change that.” Sam knelt by the toilet and Dean forced himself to not look away. “You’re certainly not a slob, and yeah, maybe you need some new clothes, but that’s okay. You’re not gigantic, and it’s okay that your body is changing. It’s not a bad thing, and it doesn’t make you gross, or ugly. Anyone who can’t see that is an idiot.”

Dean sniffed. Okay, that was a lot more than he’d expected. “You callin’ me an idiot?” he joked, watery.

“Maybe,” Sam said, and Dean huffed out a laugh, wiped at his face. His friend’s eyes were soft, and that little bit of something he’d seen in them earlier looked stronger. It felt like butterflies were fluttering in Dean’s already very full stomach. Sam was the first person he called after a bad day, his favorite person to hang out with, and quite possibly the object of a building crush that Dean had been suppressing for a long time now. And here he was, taking the time to sit in a coffee shop bathroom and give Dean a heartfelt pep talk.

Taking a huge chance, Dean grabbed Sam by the wrist and placed his hand on the side of his stomach. Sam’s ran his thumb across a stretch mark without hesitation.

“I, um,” Dean stuttered, feeling a bit like an idiot, and maybe Sam was right about that. “Thanks. And you actually can touch, if you like. Feels good.”

Sam immediately brought his other hand to Dean’s belly. He worked his fingers gently, and rather than focus on how not even Sam’s giant mitts could hold the entirety of his gut, Dean was mesmerized by how good it felt. This felt so much better than when he did it. Dean let out the breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding, and his middle nudged Sam’s knuckles. Just a friendly belly rub between bros, that’s all it was; no way Sam felt the same way as he did.

But then Sam kissed a spot right above Dean’s belly button, and Dean’s breath hitched. Did he...?

An astounding burp surprised even Dean, ruining the moment. “Excuse me,” he mumbled, but Sam just laughed and continued rubbing.

“It’s okay, you look pretty stuffed right about now. Whatever makes you feel better.” Another light kiss landed on Dean’s belly, shyer than the last. “Um, I didn’t even ask, is this okay?”

“Mm hmm. Feels nice.” Dean shoved down his self-consciousness and uncertainties and let himself enjoy the experience. It wasn’t like all his insecurities had spontaneously disappeared, but Sam obviously didn’t mind the extra weight, and that knowledge helped Dean stay calm.

It was nice for a while. Sam had long fingers and strong hands, and he was pressing and kneading in all the right places. And the kisses were nice, really nice. But it was a little overwhelming; Dean’s belly hadn’t gotten much positive attention in maybe ever, and it was difficult to accept what seemed like genuine affection. 

Dean squirmed anxiously, and Sam eased up a bit. “I, uh. Thanks.”

“It’s not exactly a hardship,” Sam said, grinning. “I’m pretty into you, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Oh,” Dean said. His heart skipped a beat. “Same, for the record. And I guess I didn’t? Kinda thought you were straight.”

Sam stared at him, and yeah, he was literally on his knees in front of another man. Dean was definitely an idiot. “I’ve mentioned Andy like fifty times. You know, my ex? I was pretty sure you were picking up on my hints.”

Huh. Yeah, looking back, it was kind of obvious. “I thought he was just a friend,” Dean defended weakly, and Sam laughed.

“Definitely not.” He massaged a particularly tight area and Dean bit back an obscene moan.

“So is this like a thing for you? Chubby guys?” Dean asked, trying to distract himself from thinking about Sam and some other guy together.

“Kind of.” Sam sat up straight, and while a part of Dean missed the kisses, a bigger part of him was glad that Sam’s attention had been diverted. It had become a little too much. Though he still kept his hands on Dean’s stomach, and that was okay. “I like bellies. They make great pillows, not to mention that they’re super sexy.”

Dean couldn’t help his ugly laugh. “Oh yeah, I feel hot as fuck right now. Just me and my gut, reeling the ladies in left and right.”

“One, be nicer to yourself,” Sam chided. “And two, I’m not a lady, if you haven’t noticed, and I think your extra weight is extremely attractive. I mean, you weren’t exactly bad-looking before, but...” He squeezed Dean’s love handle, and Dean shied away.

“That’s just ‘cause you’re a freak.”

“Possibly,” Sam said, but he was smiling, and Dean couldn’t help smiling back.

“At least one of us likes it,” Dean conceded, and Sam frowned. His body image was a conversation for a different day, Dean decided, so he changed the subject. “Anyway, we’ve been in here for way too long. How am I supposed to leave?” He tugged his shirt together to illustrate his point, and it didn’t even come close to meeting, let alone buttoning. A good several inches of fat stood in the way.

After a moment of contemplation, Sam stood up and pulled his polo over his head. He held it out to Dean, but he was lost in a mindless cycle of _abs, abs, abs._ “Dude,” Sam said, shaking the shirt, and Dean snapped himself out of it.

“Sorry,” Dean said, trying to keep himself from staring at Sam’s impressive muscles. “Wait, you wanna swap shirts?”

“Why not?” Sam shrugged, gesturing at Dean’s torso. “No way in hell will that come together, and I’m not about to let you put that belt thing back on. I’m probably a size up from you.”

Dean eyed Sam’s shirt and slowly stripped off his own, exposing the way his fat spilled out over his waistband all the way around. He snatched Sam’s polo and tugged it on quickly, anxious to cover up his rolls, and threw his own shirt at Sam.

Grunting unattractively, Dean managed to pull the fabric over his belly. It was a little loose in the shoulders and tight in the waist, but it was a huge improvement over his previous shirt, even if the solid color did nothing to hide his dumb nipples. Dean stood and tucked the polo into his pants, buttoned up below his gut, and smoothed a hand over the material, looked in the mirror. This was the first time he’d worn real clothes without any shape wear. It didn’t look totally horrible. He had obvious love handles and a belly and the shirt creased a bit under his chest, but he didn’t look sloppy. Just heavy. Still wouldn’t want to go to work like this, but that was a whole ‘nother can of worms.

“How do I look?” he joked, turning to Sam, but his mouth dried up at the way his shirt stretched over Sam’s shoulders, barely contained his biceps. “Uh.”

“I think it’s a little small on me,” Sam said with a laugh, but when he turned to face Dean, his face went slack. “Never mind, I am so glad we switched shirts.”

Dean still thought it was weird that anyone would enjoy his body like this, let alone someone as ripped as Sam, and he shifted uncomfortably. “‘S a little tight,” he said, “but that’s probably because I’m so full.”

“Mm.” Sam continued to stare, and Dean cleared his throat. “Sorry, sorry. You’re just so- actually, it’s fine. On a different note, you want a shopping buddy tomorrow? It’s probably time for a wardrobe change.”

Although Dean bristled at the implications, he knew Sam was right. Even if he did manage to work the weight off (and that was a big if at this point) he needed to actually fit into his clothes. “Okay,” he said, and Sam lit up. “But I thought your parents were in town?”

“Only for dinner,” Sam said dismissively. “My sister has them tomorrow. Three work for you?”

“Yeah. And thanks for all the help, man. You’re a real life saver.”

“You can repay me by going to dinner with me afterwards.” Sam smiled again, and the butterflies that had taken up residence in Dean’s stomach went on a rampage.

“It’s, uh, it’s a date,” Dean managed to stutter, and he thought he might combust when Sam leaned down and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Dean was still fat, kind of insecure, and he didn’t know what to do about work, how to lose the extra weight, or even _if_ he wanted to lose it — because he wouldn’t mind being Sam’s pillow, and he really liked being able to eat whatever he wanted — but, well. He had a date with a hot IT specialist who liked him for who he was, and he’d just gotten a first class belly rub from said hottie, and he was feeling good and a little bold.

So obviously he had some very good reasons to pull Sam back down for another kiss, one with a little more tongue action this time. And maybe he jumped when a hand spread out across his belly, but, y’know. Baby steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! I’ve never written this pairing before, and I enjoyed it a lot :)


End file.
